


Alternate Ways to Form a Voltron Mind Meld

by Allubttoa



Series: Alternate Ways to Form a Voltron Mind Meld [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Blow Jobs, Bonding, Bromance, But I snuck in some character development, But also not, But like a weirdly sexual bromance, But the POV character doesnt know that, Come Shot, Deepthroating, Dirty Talk, Discussions of gender issues, Dom/sub Undertones, Frottage, Getting caught going to bonetown, Humor, Hunk is Hung, Lance and Hunk are weird, M/M, Making Out, Mind Meld, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Shiro POV, Size Kink, Soul Bond, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), alien porn, board game wars, bottom!Keith, cock riding, lance pov, magic bonding, non binary pidge, season 1 AU, sex for reasons, top!Keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-03-28 23:18:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13914291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allubttoa/pseuds/Allubttoa
Summary: "So it turns out that forming Voltron is a lot harder to accomplish when you’re not all about to die."Or where Lance engages in some dick centered problem solving. He and Keith struggle to form the oneness of mind they need for Voltron, so they try to work it out between themselves.





	1. Alternate Ways to Form a Voltron Mind Meld

*** 

So it turns out that forming Voltron is a lot harder to accomplish when you’re not all about to die. 

It makes sense. After all, forming Voltron requires a oneness of purpose and mind, and not getting killed by the Galra is pretty easy purpose to share. Of course, only being able to form Voltron when death is on the line is not good enough for Shiro. Their fearless leader insists that the Paladins do better, try harder. 

Lance thinks that achieving an alien mind meld is all well and good for a race that seems to run their technology with freaky mind power, but trying to get four regular humans on the same telepathic page is like trying to get a room full of deaf and blind people to clap in unison. Possible in theory, but kinda pointless in practicality. 

Allura, of course, completely agrees with Shiro. The Paladins just aren’t trying hard enough. All they have to do is be open to one another. How do you achieve that? Well, it’s simple. To be open is to simply not be closed. Obviously. 

It makes Lance sigh just to think about it. 

And so, they have daily morning group meditations. They do joint formations in their Lions like they’re flight show pilots back on Earth rather than the defenders of the universe. They eat some nasty blue goop that Coran insists Alteans have used for thousands of years to broaden their minds and make themselves more receptive to quintessence. Hunk predictably pukes it back up, while the goop has no visible effect on Lance, Shiro, or Pidge. For some reason, Keith is the only one affected. He has some sort of allergic reaction and spends the next few hours high out of his mind, talking to spots on the wall and commenting on the beauty of the universe. 

But when he comes back down, Keith’s ability to meld with the others shows no discernable difference. And so, they keep trying. 

It’s not completely hopeless. They do get better as sensing each other’s mental presences in the first few months of their new lives, even if they haven’t quite gotten the full hang of melding together. When they first start flying the Lions, everything crashes together, just a mess of voices and feelings that are impossible to control and wrangle into one purpose. But over the past few weeks, Lance has begun to be able to parse the other Paladins apart from that cacophony of sensations. 

Hunk and Shiro are the most difficult to distinguish. You’d think that the two Paladins couldn’t have more different personalities, however, their mental presence has a surprisingly similar stability. They both pulse out with a steady, bassy thrumming that helps anchor the others. But Shiro’s mental touch has an undertone of violence and darkness that is nowhere present in Hunk’s, like a scar twisting through his subconscious. 

Pidge feels different than Shiro and Hunk. His presence is sharp. If Shiro and Hunk are like the warm pulse of bass, then Pidge is like the tremor of a violin. There’s a hyper energy there that reflects the frantic pace of his intelligent thoughts. 

And then there’s Keith. Keith has always been the easiest to distinguish from the others, at least for Lance. The shape and flow of Keith’s thoughts are so difficult to follow that he almost seems alien. Like Pidge, he repulses against the others defensively, but unlike Pidge’s angry rejection of their touch, Keith almost seems to do it instinctively. Like Shiro, Keith’s thoughts are tinged with scar-like bitterness. But where Shiro’s scars seem to sit on top of him, separate from the rest of his being, Keith’s scars are deeper. They wind through him, as if his soul has grown and expanded around the pain. It’s become as much a part of him as his limbs. 

Lance sometimes wonders what the others see in his own mental touch, if it’s as intimate as what he sees in theirs. It’s not something they’ve ever spoken of directly, despite how hard they’ve been working to successfully meld together. 

“It’s like you’re trapped in your own bodies,” Allura says in frustration one morning. “Everything is so physical with you humans.” She sighs out and rubs her eyes. “You have quintessence. I can feel it, but it’s like no matter what we do, they refuse to merge or mix together except under the direst of circumstances.” 

Hunk stares moodily at his clasped hands. “Maybe we’re just not meant to do this, you know?” 

Allura’s reaction is fierce and immediate. “Nonsense. We just have to figure out what makes humans tick. How do you become close to others on Earth? Letting your quintessence meld like you have to do within the Lions is all about allowing yourself to be open.” 

Quiznak, if she tells them that to be open is just not being closed one more time as if it were the simplest concept in the galaxy, Lance is going to scream. But it’s Hunk that interrupts her. “Intimacy,” he says. “You’re talking about trust and intimacy.” 

“Of course I am.” 

Of course she is. 

Keith has his arms folded over his chest as he asks, “What sort of trust are we talking about here?” Next to him, Pidge blinks and then seems to curl in on himself, as if fearing the answer. 

“The deepest trust. This is about baring your very soul to one another.” 

Lance gulps but remains silent. He’s afraid to look around at the others. The deepest trust? Keith hadn’t even remembered his name back when they had first joined together. And now, just a few months later, they’re supposed to have the deepest trust? Lance feels the familiar mix of humiliation and anger at that memory of their ‘first’ meeting. Keith’s hadn’t needed to be such a douchbag, looking at Lance like the younger pilot was the scum under his shoes. 

“Maybe we should focus even more on team building exercises then,” Shiro announces to the surprise of no one. Lance looks up to find that Keith is not staring at their leader as he is wont to do, but rather at Lance, eyes unreadable. Lance makes himself stare back, forces it to be a challenge, until Keith finally jerks his gaze away. 

It doesn’t feel like a victory. 

*** 

They make it through more battles, always managing to come together in the end to form Voltron. But they can all feel the wrongness of the melding, the jarring scraping of minds being forced together where they don’t quite fit. 

Lance has always interpreted the freaky alien mind melding thing in terms of music. He’s the least talented of very musical family; his sisters each playing the violin and clarinet respectively. They tried to teach him both the trumpet and the saxophone at one point, and while he can hit the notes and keep up a tune, he doesn’t possess the flowing talent of the rest of his family. Even so, you can't grow up in a large family like that and not know a good bit about music. And so, he sees the Paladins’ attempt to work together in terms of notes and pitch and instruments. 

Keith and Pidge are still the worst. While Shiro and Hunk provide the steady beat for the others to follow, Pidge feels like he is purposely trying to play in a different key, keeping the shape of the same song, but somehow staying separate from the rest. Keith, meanwhile, is at least trying to play the same tune, so to speak, but somehow is always a step behind, like he has no concept of how to play with other people. 

Lance assumes that Keith’s issues stem from his angsty, loner mentality. It’s probably hard to go from having to do everything on your own to relying on a team. Though why Pidge struggles so hard, Lance has no idea. 

In their latest battle, Lance and Keith, in particular, labor to work together. They aren’t closest of the group under the best of circumstances, but in the middle of the chaotic, desperate fire fight, they spend most of their time getting in each other’s way, literally hurdling into one another at several points. Lance can feel Shiro’s dark frustration, like the bitter tang of licorice in his mind. He senses Shiro’s failing attempt to wrap that frustration underneath brighter encouragement, bury it until he can admonish them later when they aren’t all about to die. 

When they finally destroy the Galra freighter they’ve been targeting and return to the Castle, Lance expects Shiro to find him, to draw him and Keith aside and have yet another pointless conversation about team work. His heart is still racing from the battle, thoughts burning with buzzing adrenaline, so he waits inside of Blue, trying to collect himself before he has to face his teammates. 

Someone bangs on the outside the Blue’s hull. Lance isn’t sure he’s ready to face both Keith and Shiro at the same time, so he finds the switch to open the hull, but doesn’t descend. Hopefully, Shiro will get the hint and come up alone. 

However, when Lance looks up, it isn’t Shiro standing in the cockpit with him, but Keith. 

“What do you want,” Lance asks him warily. “Where’s Shiro?” 

Keith shrugs and then lets himself in the cockpit. Lances watches him walk forward until he’s standing in front of Lance’s pilot chair. The Red Paladin leans back against the front console, his mouth a tense line. “Shiro’s got enough on his plate right now, don’t you think? Without also having to referee our joint temper tantrums? 

Lance’s hackles immediately raise. Before he can consider how much he’s proving Keith’s point, he snarls, “I do not temper tantrum.” 

As he raises an insufferable eyebrow, Keith replies, “Whatever you say. Either way, we’ve got to work this out ourselves, Lance. Either that, or you’re going to have to find a new Red Paladin.” 

Lance is so busy preparing his attack, that he doesn’t register Keith’s words right away. “Wait, what?” When Keith just looks at him with his dark eyes, Lance adds, “What part of this involves you quitting?” 

Keith gives Lance a look like the Blue paladin is the crazy one. As if it’s obvious, he spells out, “I’m the reason we can't form Voltron consistently. I don’t—fit.” 

It’s hard to admit to himself, but Lance has always been jealous of Keith. It’s difficult not to think about comparisons when’s he’s reminded constantly that he was lucky to be in the Garrison program in the first place. Keith was number one, the best pilot, the best at everything. Keith felt Blue calling to him all those weeks ago, not Lance. The Red Paladin is the talent and Lance is the goofy shmuck. 

Lance closes his eyes, only to feel in that moment the swelling press of Blue, a comforting balm against his frayed nerves. She winds her way through Lance’s mind like a purring cat, radiating affection. Placing one hand against the control, he does his best to send the sensation back to her. _Thank you._ Then he looks back up at Keith. “I think it’s a bit pretentious of you to claim all the blame for yourself,” Lance replies, far more evenly than he feels. “Even you’re not that special, Keith.” 

Keith’s voice is honest in its bitterness. “You think I don’t feel it when we’re flying together; how fucking alien I am compared you guys? They kicked me out of the Garrison for a reason, Lance. I don’t work well with others.” 

At one point, maybe even ten minutes ago, Lance might have been cruel enough to agree with the mullet head. But here in the cool, soothing light of Blue, feeling the uncomplicated love she has for him, Lance can't bring himself to keep up their hateful posturing. No, he instead decides to give Keith a truth, hoping to reassure the mullet head. He sighs theatrically. “Come on, Keith. You’re like Shiro’s second in command. He trusts you most of all. You do just fine when you’re not running off on your own or being a total asshole.” 

Keith glares at him. “How the hell do you have so many friends if this is how you normally comfort people?” 

It’s in that moment that Lance realizes something vital. For some reason, maybe because he hasn’t left Blue yet, he can still feel the shape of Keith’s mind pressing against his own. It’s as if they’re both still within the Voltron mind meld thing. The sense is fainter, and Lance is so used to the abrasive feel of Keith’s mind by now that it hadn’t registered as something important until those words. However, with that biting remark that Lance would normally bristle against, he instead comprehends the underlying desperation behind the attack. 

_Keith is so goddamn lonely._ Jaw achingly lonely. It’s eating him up from the inside, twisting through him like barbed wire. 

“Oh,” says Lance, a bit stupidly. How is something like that even possible? How can Keith not feel the irreversible bonds that have formed between the five of them as they’ve faced the entire universe together? How has Lance not realized this before now? They literally spend a good portion of their day wrapped up in each other’s minds. 

Keith’s response is suspicious and defensive. “What?” he demands. He crosses his arms as he perches on the console. 

Lance blinks at him. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” 

Keith doesn’t seem to have sensed what Lance has, because he bristles even further and snaps, “Fuck you.” He makes to rise from his perch, but Lance beats him to it, standing suddenly. 

They stare at each other, silent in the flickering lights of the cockpit. Then Lance repeats, “You’re such a fucking idiot, Keith.” He takes two steps forward, until he is crowding Keith against the console. He almost expects Keith to retreat back even though there’s nowhere really to go in this cramped space, but of course Keith doesn’t understand the concept of retreat. He stays stock still as Lance leans closer and closer, until their faces are so close that Lance could count Keith’s thick black eyelashes. 

Lance means for it to be a chaste kiss. Something to physically show Keith what he is clearly incapable grasping like a normal person. At least, that’s what Lance tells himself. 

Of course, it goes nothing like that. Instead, their lips meet, and there is a horribly awkward moment where Keith is stiff as a board, the feeling of him against Lance’s mind jarring and hostile. Lance is already planning his retreat. He can laugh it off, say he was just experimenting or taking pity on the mullet head—And then Keith grabs him by the collar and pulls him in. 

Keith turns his head so that they’re slotted together. And then the Red Paladin attacks Lance’s mouth in a hungry, open-mouthed kiss. It’s so sudden. Fast and aggressive, his tongue sliding in and just taking. Keith kisses like he has something to prove to the whole world. Lance, meanwhile, spends the first few seconds of the kiss overwhelmed by the onslaught. It’s not that Lance doesn’t have experience, the Garrison was a pretty fun time for him after all, but this is _Keith_. 

Sweet Quiznak, it’s _Keith_ that’s literally trying to suck Lance’s soul out of his mouth. Lance groans and uses his grip on the back of Keith’s head to force him back. Keith almost growls at him, which . . . wow, but Lance is only trying to slow him down. 

For how over-agressivly he started, Keith gets with the program impressively quickly, letting the kiss become more of a taking and sharing, but never losing that insistent push that Lance is fast realizing is inherently Keith. Lance still has a tight hold on the back of Keith’s head. Of course, his hair is as soft as Lance always imagined. Keith’s hands clutch at Lance’s shoulder blades, run up and down, pull him closer even though there’s nowhere closer left go. 

Because he can, Lance bites him, to which Keith actually moans, a desperate, deep intake of breath. And then Keith thrusts up from where he’s backed against the console. Lance is still aware enough to recognize the hardness pressing against him, and he just barely manages to stop himself from rutting back. 

He freezes. Some more rational part of his brain comes back online, and he wonders what just the hell they’re doing dry humping each other in the Blue Lion? 

Keith is breathing hard as he leans back in order to look Lance in the eyes. The stretch exposes the line of his neck distractingly, and Lance wants nothing more than to capture that skin, to get the Red Paladin to moan again. But for once, he’s able to control himself. Lance can still feel Keith’s mental touch. It’s still that same abrasive, alien sensation, but now there’s an added thread of violence and red heat. 

“The fuck are we doing?” Lance breathes out. Keith’s mullet is even more ridiculous than usual, the sides sticking out from where Lance’s fingers have been pulling on him. He narrows his eyes as he looks Lance up and down. Lance recognizes that look. It’s the Keith is about to do something totally reckless and stupid face. The Blue Paladin stares at Keith’s dark blue eyes. He shivers. What the hell is Keith thinking about? 

“I want you to fuck me,” Keith says. It’s more a demand than a request, his voice low but steady. 

“What?!” Lance yelps. He’s clearly having some sort of fever dream inside the healing pod. Any moment now, he’ll wake up to Coran shaking him and babbling about some random space shit. 

“I know you want to,” Keith insists stubbornly, ignoring Lance’s dumbfounded stare. “I can feel it.” Keith doesn’t look away as he waits on Lance’s answer. His lips are red and swollen, face flushed, breathing still just a bit too fast. 

Lance has no idea of what to do with this confident, aggressive version of Keith. He laughs nervously. “Dude, I got a boner yesterday when the wind blew the right way up my shorts. It’s not the compliment you seem to think it is.” 

That’s one of the bigger lies Lance has told recently. This particular boner has everything to do with the energy Keith is attacking him with. Everything to do with the bright blue of his eyes, the calm intensity of his stare. 

Keith’s answering smile is small and knowing. Lance instantly doesn’t like it. “For once, I didn’t mean your dick, asshole,” the Red Paladin says. He cocks his head at Lance. “I mean I can _feel_ it.” 

Lance almost asks him what exactly can Keith feel from Lance? Is he talking about the Voltron mind meld thing? But then Lance’s brain hiccups on, “What do you mean, _for once?”_

Just how often does Keith contemplate Lance’s dick? 

Keith rolls his eyes again, and rather than continuing the conversation, he pushes himself off from the console. Lance takes a hesitant step back, trying to keep the distance, but Keith follows him. A prickle of adrenaline runs up the back of Lance’s spine, something inside of him whispering _danger_. They walk several steps back, and then Keith is shoving Lance down in the pilot’s chair, sliding onto his lap. He rolls his hips as he settles and Lance can't help the stuttering breath he lets out. 

“Dude, this is nuts. We don't have lube or anything because we’re _in the fucking Blue Lion_. We’re probably traumatizing her right now, and you hate me anyway--.” 

Keith shuts him up by attacking his mouth again. It’s even better than against the console because Keith keeps up a steady pressure against Lance’s very interested dick. Keith smells like motor oil and sweat, and it’s amazing. His thighs flex as bit as he positions himself, giving Lance a tantalizing taste of the Paladin’s hard won muscles. It’s difficult to remember sometimes when he stands next to the tall Shiro or the larger Hunk, but Keith is fit and strong, and he proves that as he pushes against Lance, rutting hard into his lap. 

Eventually they’re both panting again, and Lance has forgotten most of his objections to what they’re doing. Keith stops to say, “Don’t you dare fucking laugh at me, okay?” He glares at Lance, eyes narrowed and threatening. 

“I’d never,” Lance promises. He desperately wants Keith to get back to the grinding. 

He tries to display that desire, but Keith pushes him back down with the palm of his hand. “If you’re careful, I don’t think we’ll need lube.” 

Lance shakes his head. Keith is so hung up on getting fucked, while Lance would be totally cool with just keeping this up. If only Keith would just get back to the program. “Not to bust the party here, but that is not how these things work,” he replies impatiently. Him thrusting up without Keith’s help is not giving him the friction he so desperately needs. _“Move, Keith.”_

“I’ve-already-worked-myself-open,” Keith interrupts. His eyes don’t quite meet Lance’s. 

“What?” 

Keith growls and jerks his head back around. “I was masturbating earlier, okay?! Before we got the distress call, and I never got to finish and—.” 

“Oh my god.” 

With those words, Keith stiffens and looks like he might just climb off of Lance with an affronted huff, but Lance grabs him by the collar. They both freeze at the sudden aggressive display. Keith glares at Lance hotly. His mind buzzes like an angry bee. 

His own grip firm and eyes steady, Lance breathes out, “I want to fuck you.” 

At first, Keith narrows his eyes as if he is trying to catch Lance in the lie, but then he subtly relaxes, replying, “I know that.” 

“Then take your fucking pants off,” Lance orders, not waiting another second. He can't believe this is happening, but at the same time, the direction they took their mutual frustration in isn’t the least bit surprising. 

They have an awkward moment where they both struggle to free themselves. Lance is about to ask Keith how the mullet head wants to do this, but Keith takes the decision out of his hands, climbing back on Lance as soon as he’s gotten out of the jump suit. He grabs Lance’s hand, demandingly directing the Paladin to his hole, and oh God, he wasn’t kidding about having opened himself up earlier. 

Lance takes a shuddering breath against Keith’s neck as they clutch at each other. Keith’s hole is still slick, inviting Lance in. The Blue Paladin can't help the image that sears itself into his brain, Keith up in his Lion, dick hard, hole quivering, completely unsatisfied. “Fuck,” he groans as he crooks one finger and then quickly adds a second. 

Keith growls again, forcefully rutting against Lance. The shape of his mind pounds against Lance, as demanding as his thrusts. His desire has a clear violent undertone that catches in the back of Lance’s throat, sets his veins on fire. 

No more time to think. No need to wonder if this is a terrible idea. Lance withdraws his fingers. He’s about to replace them with his cock, but Keith stops him, reaching between them. Now it’s Lance’s turn to growl. Keith doesn’t react, instead raising his palm and then spitting on it. Lance wants to tell him how unhygienic that is. But Keith is reaching back between them, doing his best to slick Lance up with their limited resources, and Lance can get behind that program. 

Keith lines them up and then begins to lower himself. He squeezes his eyes shut as the head of Lance’s cock first breaches him. He might have opened himself earlier, but he’s still tight, incredibly so. Lance wants to tell him it’s okay, he can slow down, but all he does it clutch as Keith’s shoulder and tremble as Keith slowly sinks himself down onto Lance’s cock. 

“Fuck, fuck,” he repeats, until Keith shuts him up with a searing kiss. 

As he withdraws, the Red Paladin whispers, “Jesus Christ, you’re mouthy.” 

Lance retaliates a bit childishly by thrusting up, and _oh god,_ that’s exactly what he needs. However, Keith doesn’t seem to appreciate the loss of control. He puts both hands on Lance’s upper hips, using that to leverage himself so that he can control the pace. He lifts himself experimentally, rolling his hips gingerly. It’s far slower than what Lance wants, the hot drag of Keith on his dick indescribable. 

Meanwhile, something strange is happening on the mind meld side of things. Lance has been feeling Keith against him this whole time. Keith’s mind always has a particular feel, rough and abrasive, and with all his attention on Lance, that painful intensity is directed fully at the Blue Paladin, assaulting and overwhelming. 

This entire time, Lance has been instinctively flinching away from the sensation, trying to protect himself. But with Keith so fucking close, the heat of his mouth, his body clenching around Lance, his scent, the unwavering directness of his gaze, Lance can't hide. And so somewhere in those moments of slow, torturous cock riding, Lance gives in. Something inside of himself releases, and then he is awash with everything that is intrinsically Keith. 

The Red Paladin truly is alien. There’s no way around that. His thoughts move in a pattern completely differently than the rest of them. He senses the world differently, feels feelings differently. And he knows it. Somewhere deep down inside, he has always felt that otherness and ached with it. 

With that onslaught, Lance suddenly perceives where they have gone wrong with their melding. They have been trying to connect to Keith in a way that he isn’t capable of, to force him into a shape that has never fit him. It’s Lance’s and the others’ fault as much as Keith that they never tried to learn him. 

It hurts, but Lance forces himself to not flinch back any longer. Keith is abrasive because he feels everything so fucking passionately, because he pushes it all down into a sharp, painful little ball. His thoughts and feelings are so bright and intense that they’re frightening. But Lance is reckless, and he holds onto the Red Paladin, thrusting up slowly, shallowly, reminding him of where they are bound together right now. There’s nowhere to hide. 

“You’re beautiful,” Lance says, and he means it with all of his being. 

Keith hides his face in Lance’s shoulder, and Lance lets him. Then Lance, in his sudden comprehension of what Keith wants, slowly reaches up and slides his hands down Keith’s arms. Keith raises his head once more to meet Lance’s gaze. Lance doesn’t break eye contact as he gently directs Keith’s hands back until they’re clasped behind his back. He wraps his long fingers around the Red Paladin’s wrists, waiting for a heartbeat. 

Keith doesn’t move, silently watching, waiting, trusting. So Lance tightens his grip and pulls down hard, using his other hand to hold Keith’s hips. At the same time, he thrusts up, violent and hard. He isn’t gentle because Keith doesn’t want him to be gentle. His grip is bruising, a claim on this moment. 

He uses Keith, setting a punishing pace that has Keith’s leaking dick bobbing up and down in the narrow space between them, the globes of his ass slamming into Lance with echoing slaps. Keith is incoherent, gasping out meaningless syllables on every release of air, his voice jarring and stumbling where he is pounded down onto Lance’s cock. 

He pulls against Lance’s grip on his wrists, and Lance punishes him by pulling him down harder and increasing the pace. Lance is never going to forget the image of Keith bobbing like this, bouncing on Lance’s cock like he was made for it. 

But Lance can't keep up this pace forever. He keeps his grip on Keith’s hands, but releases his hip, moving instead to wrap around the Red Paladin’s bouncing cock. He’s just started to messily stroke Keith, when he comes himself, a full body, shuddering release made up of shards of white, hot pleasure that radiate for a few precious seconds before his bones turn to liquid. 

Keith is crying out to him, and Lance realizes that he has slowed down to a lazy, rolling pace, his hand still on Keith’s dick. He pulls Keith tightly against himself, feeling the slide of his own seed dribble out as he repositions them, and then he jerks Keith off with intense concentration. The Paladin legs are trembling around him, his inner muscles clenching and unclenching in an almost unbearable pressure where Lance is fast growing too sensitive to tolerate it. 

And then Keith comes, his seed shooting out, splattering Lance’s stomach. His breath hitches, and he finally frees himself from Lance’s grip. 

With that, he collapses against Lance, letting all of his weight fall. Lance lets out an “oomph” noise, but otherwise doesn’t object. For several moments, they are silent as they both struggle to catch their breath. 

“You’re still a fucking idiot,” Keith sighs against Lance’s chest. If the words were supposed to possess any venom, then he has miserably failed. He sounds completely sexed out, voice relaxed and low. 

“Yeah, yeah,” yawns Lance. “I care about you too.” He shifts uncomfortably; Keith is fast becoming rather heavy. “Also, I called you the idiot. You don’t get to steal my insults, asshole.” 

“I can if it’s true.” 

“Whatever.” 

With that, Keith suddenly clambers off Lance. He doesn’t look at the Blue Paladin as he retrieves his jumpsuit and zips it back up. Lance can see the cum leaking out of the Red Paladin’s ass and it makes something go tight and painful in his chest. 

_This can never happen again._ “This was, like, a one-time thing, right?” he calls out as Keith is striding toward Blue’s door. 

As he turns back to look at Lance, Keith’s eyes are an unearthly shade of blue. “Yeah,” he says, his face betraying no emotion. Then he leaves. 

*** 

The next day, Shiro gets them all up bright and early to run practice formations in their Lions. It’s starts out just like every time before, Hunk’s soothing thrumming providing a calm undertone, Pidge’s thoughts flittering around in hard to follow melody, Keith being harsh and jarring against all the rest of them, and Shiro trying to wrangle them all together. 

But this time, Lance remembers that moment in the Blue Lion where he overcame the difficulty of connecting to Keith, how he let that overwhelming force wash over him, and he does his best to repeat it, focusing intensely on the Red Paladin, on redirecting his energy rather than opposing it. He can sense the others being distracted by what he’s doing, especially Shiro’s intelligent curiosity, but he ignores them. The only one he’s trying to reach right now is Keith. 

Keith too, is aware of what he’s doing, and for a moment he fights Lance. He tries to withdraw back into himself, something he hasn’t done in a while, but Lance has a hook in him by then, and he refuses to let go. 

“Don't be a coward, Keith,” he hisses. 

For a second he doesn’t realize he said it out loud, but then Keith swears under his breath, and he lets go. Like before, the force of his being batters against Lance, but this time, Lance knows what to do. He waits it out, gritting his teeth. Then everything smooths out, and Lance comes back to himself. 

They’re still flying in formation, but something has changed. Even though it’s just Lance and Keith, the smoothness of their connection has reverberated throughout the entire meld. Lance can feel Shiro relaxing, letting go of tension Lance had no idea he was carrying. He had no idea how hard Shiro had always been working to fill in the gaps where Lance and Keith had refused to come together until Shiro was released from his self-imposed duty. 

They fly for a few minutes longer, and it’s so much easier that Lance almost weeps from it. The relief is being compounded on itself, echoing through all of their mental touches. 

Finally, Shiro calls them down. Rather than letting them separate for their individual trainings, he gathers them all together just as Allura runs up to them. “Oh, good,” Shiro says excitedly as she approaches. “You can help us. I think we’re doing better today, and I wanted to try a group meditation again.” 

She nods, and they all sit in a circle with some minor grumbling from Hunk and Pidge. Pidge has always been the worst at the group meditation thing and, thus, is never excited when Shiro insists they do it. It goes pretty normally for a few minutes, or at least, Lance thinks it does. But then, all hell breaks loose in the form of Allura. “Keith, Lance!” Allura exclaims, destroying everyone’s concentration. She thrusts her hands into both of their palms, pulling the two boys to her. “You’ve done it!” 

Lance has no idea what she is talking about, but it can't be good. He desperately searches back to everything he has done in the past few days that she might know about. He and Pidge hid Hunk’s favorite spatula in an air vent above the kitchen sink two days ago, but he doesn’t see why she would care about that, or what that would have to do with Keith. 

He’s also recently managed to hack his shower to add three minutes to the water cut off time. Surely she hasn’t already noticed that? Three extra minutes of hot water isn’t truly so detrimental to their resources, is it? Lance needs that time for his beauty regime, god dammit. Not everyone has the hygiene of a cave man around here. 

Lance exchanges a glance with Keith as they are both drawn to Allura. The mullet head has a panicked look on his face, like he has definitely figured out what she’s babbling about. Well, good for him. 

“It’s like you’ve figured it out overnight! Your melding is incredible! Can you do it with the others too? What did you do?” 

With a flash of insight, Lance suddenly understands Keith’s panicked face. “Uhh,” he begins stupidly as he meets Allura’s hopeful expression. What they had done was fuck each other inside the Blue Lion, but Lance isn’t about to announce that. 

“You two always had one of the weakest bonds in the group. How have you overcome that? Talk me through everything you done since—when was the last time we practiced? —two days ago!” 

Lance decides to take charge of this one. He hides behind a laugh and says, “We haven’t done anything, Allura. Like you said, we had one of the weakest bonds of the group, you know epic rivals and all. I guess if you’re at the bottom, the only direction is improvement. Maybe Keith is finally starting to accept my genius pilot ability. You said this is all about trust, right?” 

Lance thinks he did a pretty good job at deflection, but for some reason the entire group is now staring at him with varying degrees of dumbfounded and disbelieving looks. 

Keith rolls his eyes. “You’re literally the worst, Lance. I’ve met five year olds that are better liars than you.” 

Lance has a moment of bright indignation before it hits him what Keith is saying. “Hey!” he begins, then stops. Why the hell would Keith admit that out loud? Unless the mullet head is planning on telling the group about their sexual escapade, he should be helping Lance deflect the others’ attention, not undermining him. 

But of course Keith, fucking Keith, with his stupid hair and his stupid dick, just raises his eyes to meet the gaze of the entire party. “We had sex. That’s the only thing it could be. The only thing that’s really changed between the last practice and today.” 

There is a long, almost hilarious moment of silence. Then Shiro squeezes his eyes shut, like he is actually in pain, and Pidge snorts into the hand that has risen to cover his mouth. Hunk just looks confused. 

Allura frowns and says, “You, you—copulated. I see.” 

Lance’s synapses finally catch up to his indignation. “Dude!” he rounds on Keith, “What the fuck?! You can't just announce that. I thought we were on the same page of taking it to our graves!” 

Keith just looks at him. 

Allura, meanwhile, thinks out loud. “Yes, I suppose that makes sense,” she mutters. “We’ve said over and over that connecting to the Lions and the other Paladins is about intimacy. Humans have no natural way to mentally sense each other’s quintessence, but physical copulation is one of the most intimate acts that any species can engage in. I should have guessed this before. But the question is, is it the physical act itself that forges the bond, or the human mind’s way of processing the intimacy of sharing quintessence using the only way it has a capable comparison?” 

“Stop calling it copulation,” Lance whines. 

“Lance and—Keith?” Hunk says blankly. “Really?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Shiro interjects, cutting them all off. He squeezes his eyes shut again. “Lance, Keith. I’m not going to warn you how dangerous it is to risk division in such a small group. You’re both adults.” Lance wants to interrupt and say that it isn’t like that. This particular fucking was a onetime thing, thank you very much. But Shiro doesn’t give him the chance, continuing, “But we should all respect your privacy to the best that we can.” This is said with a particularly hard glance at Allura. “If that truly is how you’ve managed to merge your quintessence together, then it isn’t something any of us can replicate. We’ll just have to keep doing our best with our trust building exercises.” 

Allura looks like she desperately wants to argue, but even she knows when Shiro won't be budged. Lance glances back at Keith to gage his reaction, only to find that the mullet head is staring at their leader, lips small and pressed together. There’s such obvious longing there, that Lance wonders how Shiro doesn’t see it. 

Hunks blinks rapidly as if he is clearing space dust from his eyes. “But—Lance—and Keith,” he repeats. 

“Yes!” Lance explodes, feeling the heat crawl up the back of his neck as he rounds on Hunk. “Me and Keith. I fucked his brains out on the pilot chair of Blue and it was awesome, okay!” 

_“Lance!”_ Now it is Keith’s turn to look mortified and furious. “The fuck is wrong with you?” 

Lance’s mouth opens, then closes again. “I—?” He truly has no idea why he would shout something like that. It’s like verbal vomit. Hunk looks a little sick, while Shiro and Pidge are both beet red in the face. Allura seems confused as to what the fuss is about, but also afraid to interject into what is clearly a human issue. 

If looks truly could commit murder, then Lance should be getting his last rites right about now. Lance gulps as Keith throws him one last disgusted look and then gets up and stalks out of the room. “I’m going to go work out,” the mullet haired boy mutters without looking back. No one stops him. 

“But seriously,” Hunk says after a few seconds of silence, “Keith and Lance?” 

“Oh my God!” 

*** 


	2. Alternate Ways to Bond With Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's a blow job between friends really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, by popular request, here is a sequel chapter. Thank you all so much for the support for the first chapter. I've got a couple of ideas for how this could go, but it's basically going to be a collection of loosely related one shots that deal with how the Paladins are bonding with each other.

*** 

  
They still struggle to form Voltron when they aren’t panicking and about to die. But Keith and Lance’s ability to work together, to sense each other’s intentions within their Lions, has immensely improved after a short hiccup caused mostly by Keith’s anger and Lance’s embarrassment at how the whole thing was revealed. Had it happened any other way, the others would have been shouting from the rooftops with congratulations, but as it stands, the team is remarkably silent to the rivals’ improvement. 

That changes one day about two weeks after Keith/Lance incident. Lance and Hunk are on a mission together when they get trapped planet-side by a storm. They’ve been hunting for some sort of plant that Coran insists he needs to have in his medical room to make the pods run properly, something no one is about to argue with. 

Lance and Hunk find a large cave, big enough to comfortably fit both their Lions and themselves. Lance then braves the weather to find some fire wood, and they make a cozy little nest on the edge of the cave, far enough inside to stay dry, but with a beautiful view of the raging weather. Bright, multicolored flashes of light dance across the storm clouds as they huddle by their campfire. Before the interference killed the comms, Pidge had said something about ion clouds and mineral deposits causing the varied lights. Lance honestly didn’t pay too much attention. All he needs to know is that the weather, while terrible for their electronic equipment, isn’t harmful to them. 

Lance is feeling sleepy, the crackling of the fire lulling him into complacency. It’s with that tranquility that he finds himself falling into something similar to the meditative state that Allura and Coran have been making them constantly practice. It’s weird to find it so easy to do outside the Lions or those weird headset things, but Lance has begun to suspect that their time with the Lions is leaving permanent tracks across their minds. Maybe soon he’ll never be without the feeling of the others against his thoughts. 

Blue is right behind him, her presence as soothing and relaxed as always. Yellow stands right next to her, warm and satiated like a sunning cat. Lance wonders if it’s the Lions making him feel so drowsy and relaxed or if it’s Hunk and him doing it to the Lions. Does it even matter? 

Hunk’s presence hums next to him, bumping up against his mental space as if it’s seeking his attention. So Lance turns towards Hunk, to find that the Yellow Paladin is biting his lip, watching Lance. 

“What?” Lance demands. 

“Just thinking,” says Hunk. 

Lance blinks at him suspiciously. Hunk isn’t usually the secretive one; that’s Keith’s job. “’Bout what?” Lance asks. 

Honestly, I’ve been thinking about you and Keith and the Lion mind meld stuff.” Hunk looks at him from under his eyelashes and waggles his tongue. “Do you think it was the ‘bumping uglies’?” he asks, illustrating his point with a crude hand gesture, “Or just you finally figuring out something about connecting with each other emotionally or whatever? And you just happened to use the, uh, horizontal tango to do it.” 

“It’s called sex, Hunk.” 

“Oh I thought the correct term was copulation,” snorts Hunk, doing a fair impression of Allura’s posh accent. “But really though,” he asks. “You think sex truly is the key to this Voltron stuff? That would be one of the more fucked up things I’ve learned since aliens actually exist.” 

It’s not that Lance hasn’t thought about it since then. He finds himself remembering the burn of Keith’s eyes as the Red Paladin clenches around him at the most inopportune times. But the answer, the how and why, isn’t any clearer to him than to the other Paladins. “I don’t know,” he replies, shaking his head. “Though, it was different with Keith. Than other people, I mean.” 

Hunk is aware that Lance was a bit of a partier at the Garrison. He knows also that Lance doesn’t discriminate really between the sexes with his exploits. “How?” the Yellow Paladin asks. 

“Well,” Lance hesitates, not quite wanting to admit it. But he and Hunk have little to no secrets between each other, and all he can feel from the Yellow Paladin is swirling curiosity, not a hint of reproach or judgment. “We were in the Blue Lion, and it was like, I don’t know, like we were still in the Voltron mind meld thingy. I could tell what he was feeling, sort of.” 

“And you thought, hey this would be a great time to fuck?” 

“It was Keith’s idea, actually,” Lance snaps, though his words lack true bite. 

“Hmn,” Hunk thoughtfully replies, not rising to the bait. He leans back and stares into the fire for a while. Lance sighs and does the same. He thinks that must have been the end of that conversation, but then the Yellow Paladin surprises him. “Do you love him?” Hunk abruptly asks as he sits up and adds another log to the fire. It crackles, sparking greedily. 

“What?” Lance demands, even though he knows full well what Hunk is asking him. 

“Keith. Do you love him?” 

Lance glances at his friend. “Why, are you jealous? He fears the answer to the question. Hunk is his dearest friend, and he’s not sure what he would do if things suddenly become weird and awkward. At least with Keith, they were already weird and awkward even before the cock riding thing. 

“Not in the way you’re worried about,” Hunk responds with a small smile. “Though I am jealous of how well you pilot your Lions together now. I’m not the best pilot to start with, and now, I guess I’m afraid I’m being left behind,” he admits. He takes his stick and pokes at the fire again. 

Lance stares at his friend. Somehow with how much Hunk jokes around and how readily he makes self-depreciating comments, it has never occurred to Lance that Yellow Paladin could be so insecure. He must know how beloved he is within the team, the one that literally no one ever has a problem with. He must know how much Lance loves him. 

At that musing, Lance’s thoughts snag on Hunk’s actual question. Does he also love the angst-ridden mullet head? 

“I do love him,” Lance finally says. A month ago, he would have laughed at the idea of such an answer. Now it just seems obvious. “I think with how much we see of each other, it’s impossible not to.” Lance isn’t talking about how much they actually physically see each other, which is clearly a lot, but Hunks seems to understand. The Yellow Paladin nods gravely. Lance shrugs and adds, “I don’t think I’m _in love_ with him though. Or at least, I don’t know.” He frowns, “Is that bad?” 

For the first time, Lance wonders at the broader implications of what he did with Keith. He hadn’t really put a lot of forethought into his actions at the time, moving more on instinct. Does Keith think he is in love with him? _No, that can't be._ They both said it was a onetime thing. And Keith, for all his moody silences, isn’t a liar. 

Hunk quickly shakes his head at Lance. “I think feeling are complicated, and we’re a bunch of young adults with the literal weight of the universe on our shoulders. It’d be more surprising if you were totally self-aware of your feelings.” 

Lance feels a sudden wave of affection for his friend. Steady, thrumming bass indeed. “You’re important, Hunk,” he says, returning the conversation to Hunk's earlier insecurity. “I hope you know that. When we’re up there fighting, you hold us all together, you know?” When Hunk doesn’t answer, he adds, “I feel it when I’m in my Lion. We all do, even if you can't.” 

Hunk smiles at that, eyes soft and grateful. “Thanks, Lance.” He rolls his shoulders and leans back on his palms, stretching his torso with a sigh, before sitting back up and grinning wordlessly at Lance. 

In the following silence of the dark cave, Lance feels his chest tighten with a sudden idea. _No._ Hunk would never go for that. But now that he’s thought of it, the impulse won't leave him, instead growing stronger and stronger. Hunk is his best friend, and this is a terrible idea, except it’s the best idea Lance has had in two weeks. 

They’re both sitting cross legged behind the glowing fire, so Lance lifts himself up and onto his knees. Hunk’s warm eyes widen, pupils suddenly dilating. So he can feel where this is going as much as Lance can. _Good._

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Lance whispers. The only response is a sharp intake of breath. Lance can feel it in his bones, the deep, deep pulsing of everything that is Hunk. Steady and grounded. Safe. 

Lance moves forward slowly, achingly so. He leans over his friend and then gently presses down on the larger teen’s chest until Hunk is leaning back on his elbows. With trembling finger, Lance works the zipper of Hunk’s suit, so similar to his own, and yet impossible to work with at the moment. But finally, Lance gets the blasted thing partially open, and he frees Hunk’s heavy, flushed cock. 

“Lance,” Hunk says, voice already deeper, gruff. “You don’t have to do this. I’m not like Keith. I’m not—I’m just your friend.” 

Lance struggle to process what Hunk is trying to tell him. Hunk isn’t like Keith, meaning what, gay? Lance knows that about him. He knows what this is. 

He smiles encouragingly at his friend. “I know what you are, Hunk,” he says, echoing his earlier thoughts. “And this is whatever we want it to be. I’m bored and horny and I love your big, goofball self. Does it have to be more than that?” 

Hunk shakes his head, and then his grin turns sly. “Big, huh?” Even though he’s grinning easily, Lance senses tension twist through Hunk with those words, self-conscious nervousness rising almost out of nowhere. 

The Good Lord definitely hasn’t neglected Hunk in that area. Lance stares at Hunk’s cock like it’s a math problem he forgot to study for. This is the first time he’s seen it hard and engorged, and God, Hunk’s cock is fucking huge. How the hell has Lance not realized this before? He has no idea how anyone can feel self-conscious with a dick worthy of a porno. 

Hunk has a slight worry wrinkle above his eyebrows as he watches Lance. The Yellow Paladin bites his lip, and Lance suddenly wonders how many people have seen Hunk like this. “Have you done this before?” he whispers, even though there’s no one to hear them but the Lions. 

That same self-conscious tension rises up higher, strains the steady thrumming that Hunk normally puts out. The Yellow Paladin’s voice is equally low. “Sort of. Guys always think, how can having such a big dick be a problem? But in real life, people tend to not be excited about getting fucked by or going down on someone who might actually choke them. Don’t laugh at me, but it hasn’t really gone well in the past, okay?” 

Laughing is the last thing Lance wants to do as Hunk’s mental touch continues to pulse at him so wrongly. How can he miss something that hadn’t even existed two months ago so much? “Your dick is fucking gorgeous, Hunk,” Lance replies solemnly, wanting desperately to make his friend feel the truth of his words. 

Hunk just rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.” 

Now Lance is the one with the sly grin. “Let me show you,” he purrs, and it’s corny as hell, but Hunk still swallows a deep gulp of air. 

Giving head, like all other forms of sex, Lance has learned, is about listening to your partner, reading them, staying completely attuned. And Lance and Hunk have practically worn a path between each other’s minds over the past two months, so that Lance has no trouble finding it and following it now, even outside of their Lions. 

He leans his head down and breathes a hot puff of air on Hunk’s straining dick. Hunk jumps, shivering at the sensation, but Lance is already moving, kissing the tip of Hunk’s cock with a gentle, butterfly kiss. 

With one hand pressed against the Yellow Paladin’s hip, Lance proceeds to worship Hunk’s cock. He inhales his friend’s scent without reservation, letting him see and feel how much Lance is enjoying this, how much he wants it. Lovingly, he licks a sloppy stripe up the velvety flesh, watching it twitch and jump. Hunk stays silent, but Lance doesn’t need his words, not when his mind is so much clearer. 

Lance mouths at the head, licks the ridge. He still hasn’t yet tried to wrap his lips around the intimidatingly huge cock, and he can feel Hunk’s continuing anxiety about it. Well, Lance has a solution for that. 

Lance pulls off Hunk’s dick to suck and kiss at his balls, working them between his fingers, kissing up his thighs. He lets Hunk’s cock slide past his cheek, always reminding the Paladin of the sensations he will soon be feeling, but not yet granting them. Let Hunk sit in his anticipation; Lance has all the time in the world. Every action of Lance’s is followed by reaction, both physically, but also in the mental space they’ve built between themselves. It’s not the same violent, passionate heat of Keith’s thoughts, but rather it’s something precious in its own way, structured with the building blocks of their long friendship. 

Lance keeps up the teasing pace, loving how Hunk’s anxiety is slowly being overcome by impatient desire, how his breath picks up, growing shallower. 

“Your cock is incredible, Hunk,” he repeats as he hovers over the cock in question after what feels like hours of teasing. Rather than waiting on a response that Hunk is too worked up to coherently give, Lance finally, finally fits his lips around the head, sucking and mouthing, letting Hunk absorb the wet heat of his mouth. Hunk’s hips jerk up helplessly, and Lance holds him tighter. 

God, Hunk really has an impressively huge cock. It feels like it barely fits in Lance’s mouth, like his lips scarcely stretch around it. Already his jaw aches. But Lance is no chicken, and Hunk deserves this pleasure. 

And pleasure he is feeling. The drumming that Lance always associates with Hunk’s mind in the meld, earlier so off kilter from anxiety, has deepened again, gone so low that Lance almost feels it like a physical thing, a vibration deep in his chest. 

Hunk groans and leans his head back to pant as Lance really starts to move, alternating between bobbing and sucking. “Jesus Christ Lance, your mouth is amazing,” he gasps, “Like, actually amazing. Holy fuck. Hands down, best idea you’ve ever had.” 

Lance can only get about halfway down Hunk’s cock before feeling like he is about to choke, so he wraps the base tightly with his hand, trying to match the rhythm of his mouth. Because he’s leaning forward and his mouth is practically split open, spit begins to slide down messily, mixing with his hand, making the jerking off easier. It should be disgusting, but it isn’t. Lance can feel Hunk zero in on the sight of the Paladin barely swallowing his dick, on this proof of his sincere enthusiasm. 

It’s affecting Lance too, making the front of his pants tight and uncomfortable. He desperately wants to free his own cock, and really, he should have thought about that before starting this blowjob. But to do that, he would have to either let go of Hunk’s hip or his cock, neither of which he is willing to do right now. So Lance grows increasingly harder and more desperate himself, grinding against his own uniform, trying to get any sort of friction he can. 

Breathing through his nose, Lance swallows around Hunk’s cock, rumbles against it. Hunk groans again. His thighs tremble and jerk against Lance’s hold. The Blue Paladin doesn’t stop his rhythm. He’s not that cruel, but he does slow down and lift his eyes to meet Hunk’s. They’re dilated to black orbs in the fire light. Outside, colors continue to flash across the sky, the wind shrieking with fury. Lance grins around the cock in his mouth. 

He doesn’t completely lack a gag reflex. He’s not that cool. But he can feel how close Hunk is, how his balls feel tight, the taut string of a violin about to snap. Lance lowers his shoulders to flatten out the angle of his mouth and throat as best he can. Then he takes another steadying breath through his nose. 

With Hunk’s mind beating out a rhythm of _warm, safe, joy_ , Lance swallows him all the way to the base. He ignores the flash of choking panic, and instead hums around the massive cock shoved down his throat. 

Hunk cries out, his voice guttural and wrecked. His hips jerk against Lance over and over again as Lance’s throat spasms around him, and then the violin string finally snaps. Hunk comes with a sharp shout. Lance feels the tremors of Hunk’s seed being released down his throat in several waves, and he finally starts to gag for real. 

Hunk is still shooting his load as Lance is pulling of him, so that Lance gets a mouthful of salty, bitter come. Hunk’s cock leaves a hanging trail of spit and seed between Lance’s mouth and his dick as Lance leans back. 

Lance wastes no time in shoving his hand down his pants, undoing his zipper, and freeing his own cock. He can't think, can't process anything but the overwhelming need for release. His dick practically aches, he’s so hard. Rather than quenching the fire under his skin, getting his hand on his cock only seems to accentuate the unbearable sensation. He sits back on his heels and jerks himself off without finesse, rhythmless, tight, and messy. 

Squeezing his eyes shut, he comes almost immediately, and he’d be embarrassed by that, but he’s too busy enjoying the heat that drags its way through his nerves, almost like his orgasm is being ripped from him. _Exquisite._

When it’s over, Lance takes a second to breathe, to let his high come back down, and then he opens his eyes, only to realize he has made a mistake. 

_Hunk’s face is covered in come._

Hunk’s face is covered in come, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief, and Lance realizes that Hunk was still underneath Lance when he sat up to find his own sweet release. Hunk was still underneath him, and now the Yellow Paladin’s face is striped in white. Pearly come is dripping from Hunk’s bangs, glooped in his eyelashes, steaked down his cheek, and even pressed into the folds of his lips. 

Lance stares. 

“Dude, seriously? What the hell?” demands Hunk as he unfreezes from his shock, gesturing to himself helplessly. 

“Oops.” 

Hunk isn’t impressed. He’s blinking rapidly, trying to clear his eyes. “You came all over my face! And that’s all you have to say? Oops.” 

Lance can't stop his gaze from darting to the streak across Hunk’s cheek. He doesn’t know what to do with the strange feeling of ownership it gives him. “It was an accident?” 

Hunk wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s in my mouth!” 

At that, Lance can only snort. “How tragic. You swallowed some spunk,” he deadpans while licking up the come still trailing from his own mouth to remind Hunk of just who here has been doing most of the come swallowing. “How will you ever survive?” They have towels in the medkits in both of the Lions, and it is probably Lance’s responsibility to go get one for Hunk since this is his fault, but his limbs are so loose and weightless right now, it seems a shame to throw that away. 

Hunk glares. “You know what I mean,” he whines. 

At that, Lance grins wickedly, ignoring the lingering ache in his jaw. He’s still too high to take Hunk’s plight fully seriously. “Hunk, you know what happens when you swallow spunk, right? Everyone knows this.” 

“What?!” 

Lance drags out the answer as Hunk leans forward in suspense. “Once you’ve swallowed come there’s no going back. It means you’ve almost certainly caught it.” 

“Caught what?!” 

“The worst bug of all. Men everywhere suffer. One second, you're totally heterosexual, and the next, you've got a lisp and a frankly scary love of skinny jeans. That’s how you know you’ve come down with a case of—the gays!” 

Hunk has a moment where he still looks adorably confused, then he shoves at Lance. 

Lance lets himself fall back, cackling madly. “You should have seen your face,” he giggles, pointing at his friend’s pained expression. 

“That’s it,” Hunk announces. “I’m going to get a towel. You animal.” 

Lance continues to laugh at his back. Were it not for the mind meld thing, he might have been concerned that Hunk was actually mad, but Hunk’s mind has wrapped him in a layer of affection and tolerance. Hunk’s mental presence is unyielding, but in a comforting way, strong and steady. Strange that it’s so, with how flighty the Yellow Paladin is in battle, but it shows how much is hidden under that goofy exterior. 

Lance thinks about the other person who’s mind he has gotten intimately acquainted with recently. Keith, even when he’s being affectionate, is sharp and prickly, making it hard to accept his touch. At least until Lance learned how to let that sensation wash over and through him, turning with the tide instead of fighting it. 

Hunk, meanwhile, is like a steady wall, a backbone for Lance to lean against. No matter how he pushes, Hunk’s mental support never wavers. It’s almost an entirely different way of interacting. 

He’s still thinking about it when Hunk comes back, face clean of sticky come. “Hey Hunk.” 

“What?” 

“Do you have trouble melding with Keith when we’re flying?” 

Hunk blinks at him, then sits down with a shrug. “I think everyone has trouble melding with him. Except you now, I guess. He’s—slippery. Like I’m trying to grab hold of him, steady him up, and he’s just made of smoke. Goes right through mah’ brain fingers.” 

_Abrasive, smoky._ And Hunk describing himself as steady. It mostly fits with what Lance senses about them as well. Though Lance wonders why he always feels like Keith is battering at him, scraping against and overwhelming him, whereas Hunk apparently seems to struggle to touch Keith at all. 

Hunk says, “You’re a lot simpler. I think you and Shiro are always the easiest to get on the same page with. It’s like you flow in and try to fill all the spaces we leave, especially since you stopped fighting with Keith so much.” 

Something about the way Hunk says that, the shape he makes in Lance’s mind, something about the word ‘flow’ just clicks with Lance. He suddenly perceives that he can be both what Hunk and what Keith need, that he can be a bridge between them. It’s like holding two opposite ideas in his head at once, except nothing like that. It’s maybe something like feeling difference kinds of love for the same person and the same kind of love for different people, all at the same time in one tangled web. Complicated perhaps, but not inherently hard to do. He wants to tell Hunk about his revelation, but he doesn’t know the first step in explaining it. Plus, it’s not like they won't be in their Lions together tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. Either Lance’s idea of being the flow that bridges them works, or it won't. 

Lance swallows heavily. He’s abruptly incredibly tired. “Will you cuddle with me?” he begs Hunk shamelessly. 

Hunk gives an answering grin. His voice is laced with sleepiness as well. “Yeah, ‘course. Come here.” 

They spread out their little nest as comfortably as they can, and then lay down together. As Lance presses himself against Hunk, he feels something ease inside of himself. Hunk’s thrumming drowns everything else out, stills and silences Lance’s thoughts. His large warmth dwarfs Lance, wrapping him up like a cocoon. 

Lance starts to drift off to sleep almost immediately, but Hunk whispers against his ear. “Hey Lance.” 

“What?” 

“Thanks.” 

Lance smiles to himself in the darkness. “Anytime, man.” 

A long second of silence, then, “Really?” 

Lance nips that right in the bud. For how much he loves Hunk, he doesn’t think his poor jaw could take this on a regular basis. “Fuck no,” he says with a yawn. “Get yourself a boyfriend if you want someone to suck your cock all day.” Lance is so sleepy that he isn’t totally filtering what comes out of his mouth. It’s the only excuse he has for his next teasing comment. “Fuck, I bet Keith’s in the market. He looks like someone who’s horny for massive cocks.” 

“Eww, I don’t want to think about what Keith is horny for.” 

“He likes it rough,” Lance mumbles sleepily. 

Hunk can't quite hide his curiosity. “How rough?” 

“Dude, I love you. Go to fucking sleep.” 

A comfortable sigh. “Love you too, Lance.” 

*** 

When they wake up, the storm has passed, and they discover that the atmosphere of the planet they’re on turns bright, neon green after an ion storm. Hunk keeps glaring uncomfortably at the sky like it’s radioactive. Lance has to admit that the unnatural color is rather freaky, but he likes it. This is what being in space and visiting alien planets is all about. 

With their electronic equipment working again, they find the needed plant quickly and then return to the castle. Keith is out in his Lion, practicing maneuvers and attacks. When he senses them approaching, he loops around and flanks them, playfully coming in close, mock attacking, and then peeling away. 

Neither Lance nor Hunk’s Lion are fast enough to catch Keith like that, but the teasing sets off Lance’s competitive streak, and he wrangles Hunk into a counter attack. 

He knows their only true chance is to deceptively outmaneuver Keith, but they’re never going to accomplish that with Keith battering his way through Lance’s mind. Since the infamous cock-riding incident, Lance has been letting Keith wash through him, redirecting the Red Paladin’s energy rather than fighting a losing battle against it. Keith mental touch is far less destructive and abrasive when Lance works with it, and in fact, has grown rather comforting in its own strange and overwhelming way. 

But Lance has no intention of letting Keith have the upper hand in this particular battle. The mullet head doesn’t take Lance as seriously as a pilot as Lance deserves, and he needs to be shown that. So Lance focuses on the connections in his brain. 

Keith and Hunk, both in their Lions, are bright and active in his mind. Shiro and Pidge are there but in a dormant, muted state. Shiro seems currently more aware of the connection than Pidge though. Lance gets the impression that Shiro is somewhere close to his Lion, maybe working on it in the hanger, and that’s why he feels like he’s halfway ‘awake.’ Pidge is probably somewhere else in the castle doing smart person computer shit. 

It’s more instinct than any real plan. Lance has no idea how this telepathic alien stuff actually works. But he feels how he is smooth and giving to Keith, but more solid against Hunk, and he draws himself up, curls his mental self into a ball, shuts Keith out, becoming entirely the solid presence that Hunk finds easier to grab on it. 

It's like a violent dunk in freezing water. He didn’t realize until he pulled away how much Hunk relied on his help to latch onto Keith, and by drawing away from Keith, he has pulled Hunk from the connection to the Red Paladin as well. Hunk gasps into his headset, but he manages not to falter. 

Keith isn’t so lucky. The Red Lion actually stumbles mid-flight, like it’s been hit. Its movement loses its normal fluid grace, and Lance and Hunk corner it easily, knocking into the Red and herding it back towards the castle in victory. The entire time both Hunk and Keith are oddly silent, the strain and wrongness between the three of them a palpable, almost physical thing. In an attempt to ignore it, Lance crows his victory once, but the lack of response from either of the others stops him almost immediately. 

Lance’s mind is burning. Keith’s mental touch is a wildfire, surrounding him, trying to blast him open. It’s a horrifying wave of destruction and desperation. The scars that always wind their way through Keith are like vice grips, thorns tearing their way into Lance’s mind. 

_Loneliness. Desperation._ A fear so powerful and deep that it defines Keith. 

Lance doesn’t know why he continues to hold himself separate as they land their Lions, except that he’s frightened by what he’s feeling. He’s breathing hard, body twisted up with tension. He gets up out of the pilot chair and places his hand on the console, intending to send Blue his love like he always does when he leaves the Lion, but even she is in turmoil, agitated and snappish. With a gulp, he draws away from her and leaves for the hanger. 

Shiro is there, face thunderous with concern. Hunk and Keith exit their Lions at the same time, and Lance can't help how his eyes are drawn to the mullet head. 

Keith’s expression is entirely devoid of emotion. It’s a complete juxtaposition to what he’s sending out over the group brainwave. His eyes meet Lance’s, and they are like glass orbs, empty of life. 

“What did you guys do?” Shiro demands. “What’s wrong?” 

No one answers Shiro. Hunk’s gaze darts between Lance and Keith, and Lance gets the impression that Hunk grasps that this is something between the Red and Blue Paladin, but he hasn’t quite understood the true cause of the problem. Hell, Lance himself doesn’t understand it. 

“There’s nothing wrong, Shiro. We were just playing around up there,” Keith finally answers tonelessly. His lack of emotion is starting to frighten Lance, especially since Keith is still slamming himself against Lance’s mind, though Lance isn’t sure how aware Keith is of what he’s doing. 

Shiro looks between the two of them, and Lance can feel his searching focus. God, they need to get away from their Lions. Perhaps that will quiet the mental storm that is raging between them. 

Lance swallows and says, “Look, I’m really tired, and all I want is a shower. I’ll see you guys later, okay?” 

No one answers as Lance practically runs away. 

*** 

After he finds that he literally can't focus on anything else, Lance goes to find Keith. He doesn’t have to look for him. The painful agitation that has been pressing against Lance lessened a bit as he got away from the Lions, but has in no way dissipated. This is his life now, Lance supposes, always feeling the mental touch of four other people, never truly alone. 

Lance doesn’t knock on Keith’s door. Harsh metal music can be faintly heard from under the threshold, music that blasts out as Lance barges in. Lance vaguely muses as he stares at his friend that the music matches the tone of what Keith has been sending him. 

Keith sits up from where he was presumably laying on his bed, and he stares at the intruder. 

Lance speaks first, practically shouting to be heard over the music. “Get out of my head.” 

With that, Keith reluctantly turns off the music, his face darkening into a scowl. “What?” 

“You,” Lance accuses, “are attacking me with your brain. I want to you to stop it before you give me permanent brain damage or something.” 

Keith blinks at him, then growls, “I have no idea what you’re fucking talking about, Lance. Get the fuck out of my room. And by the way, you’re the one that attacked me today. With your brain or whatever.” 

Lance can't believe the hypocrisy of that. “You’re literally doing it right now!” 

“I’m not doing anything! I was _trying_ to listen to my music. I wasn’t even thinking about you.” 

“Contain your brainwaves!” Lance cries out in frustration. How the hell can Keith not feel that pounding? It’s worse than the migraines that Lance used to get as a pre-teen. 

Keith abruptly stands up. He snarls, “No. You don’t get to do that. You spent however the fuck long rejecting me inside the meld, and then you suddenly out of the blue attack me today, shove me violently away, and then complain about _my_ brain? It doesn’t work that way, Lance.” 

_Hurt. Fear. Pain. Rejection._

Lance’s breath is starting to come out in pants as adrenaline pulses in him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t realize it would feel that way. I just wanted to—I just wanted to win.” 

“Well, you won.” 

That shouldn’t sting as much as it does. “What do you want from me?! 

“I don’t know!” Keith shouts. He turns away with clenched fists. “I don’t fucking know, okay? Just leave me alone.” 

Lance is afraid. Afraid of what Keith has roiling inside of himself. So much fucking angst. 

This was a lot easier when they were locked together, one inside the other with nowhere to run to. But Lance is quickly discovering this moment requires far more bravery on his part. No easy excuses here. 

Lance squeezes his eyes shut. He’s done this once before in a similarly deliberate way, all the times after just following that first plunge. His own mental presence is a rigid, jarring thing, as separate from Keith as he can make himself be in this tangled web they’ve created. 

Lance lets go. 

He forces his own barriers to relax and accept Keith’s presence flowing through him again. 

It's more painful than the first time. Keith’s mind feels like an animal that has been battering against a metal cage for most of the afternoon. Bloody, claws torn to pieces. Lance whispers soothingly, makes himself like Blue, the cool rush of tranquil water. _Easy there,_ some part of him says. _Easy now, I’m here. I won't leave you._

But he had. Lance had jerked himself away, ripping them violently apart. 

Lance bows his head. _I know. I know I did. And it was wrong. I was wrong._

_Please,_ cries Keith without words, pushing at Lance what he would never admit out loud. _Don’t leave me. Everyone leaves me._

Lance laughs brokenly, though he’s not sure if it’s real or in the mental space they’re occupying right now. “Dude, I could never leave you. Your stupid brain would drag me back. You’re too stubborn for that.” 

Keith doesn’t answer that. They’re both quiet for a little bit, their breathing slowing down, heartbeats settling. As he becomes aware again of their surroundings, Lance realizes that somehow they have come together, their foreheads pressed against each other. Keith shudders against him. “You’re so exhausting,” Lance murmurs, not wanting to break the fragile quiet. 

“Fuck off,” Keith returns, but he clutches Lance closer, both in mind and body. 

“Love you too.” 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all the support. <3


	3. Alternate Ways to Get Your Porn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is just trying to get through this without traumatizing one of his Paladins or himself. Unfortunately, they aren't exactly making that easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *My timeline makes no sense. Pidge has talked to Shiro about her gender in this timeline, but not anyone else. So somewhere in the middle of season 1. Idk, just go with it. 
> 
> **This chapter deals with questions about sexuality and gender. I tried to be as positive and respectful as possible to issues that I don't experience myself. If anything seems problematic though, please let me know. Also there is dubiously consensual kiss here played for laughs. It isn't intended to say that such behavior is okay, but that the characters involved have the sort of relationship where they are able to work past it and forgive each other relatively quickly. 
> 
> [Post Season 7 Note]: I wrote this before season 7 and the Shiro sexuality reveal. Just assume that when he says he hasn't had to deal with questioning his sexuality/gender that he had a very healthy and open childhood for his happy little gay self :P

*** 

**Shiro** 

Shiro has always known that he would end up in some sort of command situation. It isn’t arrogance to say that; he’s just got the sort of personality that lends itself to leadership. He can't stand to watch others work without contributing, he can't leave a problem alone when it needs fixing, and he’s always had an excellent sense of others’ needs, desires, and emotions. 

What he never counted on was being a commander to a group of angsty, frightened, hormonal, and sexually frustrated teenagers. But Shiro is adaptable. He learns, and he learns wells. 

So he quickly figures out Lance craves reassurance of Shiro’s approval, as does Keith, but the Red Paladin would never admit to that need. Shiro understands that Hunk needs to feel in control of a situation, and it’s better for everyone’s mental health if they let him seek that control through cooking for the team and tinkering with the mechanical systems. Pidge feels insecure of her place in the group, separated by both her age and her gender, so Shiro must take special care to make sure she is included and welcome. 

Shiro has to be perfect at all times because he is the one they look to, the one they idolize and worship. His teammates’ lives are completely in his hands every minute of every day. And he’s handling that. Mostly. 

Patience yields focus. 

In the end, it isn’t Hunk’s panic in his Lion, or Pidge’s destructive grief, or Keith’s recklessness that finally threatens to bring him down. No, it’s Keith standing there in front of everyone, announcing that he and Lance had fucked each other, and that is how they’ve successfully melded in the strange Voltron mental space. The defiant glare, daring them all to judge him for it. 

Monsters in space, sure, Shiro can handle that. But the tension between being barely an adult himself, yet having the responsibility of supervising the development and safety of teenagers just discovering themselves; please, just shoot him now. 

Shiro should have seen something like this coming. The Paladins are a group of horny teenagers trapped 24/7 together in small quarters. Of course somebody was going to start fucking. 

But that doesn’t make it okay. 

Because of course it immediately goes wrong. 

Less than two weeks after that rather explosive announcement, Shiro is working on one of the electrical wires in his Lion’s leg where the insulation has begun to wear when he feels it. 

The longer they fly with the Lions, the stronger the Paladins’ strange mental connection grows. At this point, Shiro doesn’t have to be inside his Lion to feel the connection. He always has the thoughts of the others humming in the back of his head when he’s anywhere close to his Lion, especially if they’re in their Lions as well. So he feels Keith up there practicing movements, and he is faintly aware of when Lance and Hunk return to their Lions to fly back the castle. He senses their approach and doesn’t think much of it until he is slapped with an abrupt, jarring sense of wrongness. 

It’s sudden, like the tearing of a string, his arm being ripped out of its socket. He drops his wrench and stands up. _Where is it coming from?_

_Lance and Keith._

Of course it is. It’s been nearly two weeks since they’ve exploded on one another. 

Rather than the smooth chumminess they’ve begun to develop in the past two weeks, Lance and Keith are currently tearing at each other within the group mind meld, as standoffish as hissing cats wrapped in a layer of painful defensiveness. 

Shiro opens his eyes and cranes his head up by the clear glass of the hanger. He can just barely make out the three Lions. Nothing seems to be chasing them, and they’re clearly headed towards the castle, so he resists the urge to climb into his own Lion. 

The three boys eventually land, and it’s immediately apparent that Lance and Keith have had some sort of fight. Lance is visibly vibrating with anxiety and Keith has his ‘I don’t give two shits’ mask on. Strangely, their reactions in the mind meld are the opposite of their physical expression. Lance’s mind, normally so boisterous and attention seeking, is muted, almost curled in a ball, whereas Keith mentally yowls like an angry tomcat. It makes his attempt to seem unaffected even more frustrating. 

But Keith has the trust issues of a frightened, wild animal, and so it does no good to point out how obviously not okay he is. Shiro can only watch as the Red and Blue Paladins stalk off in opposite directions. He waits until they are both out of earshot, then rounds on Hunk. 

“What actually happened up there?” he demands. 

Hunk shrugs, going for nonchalant and miserably failing. “Dude, I have no idea. They were doing their usual flirt though assholery thing, and then Lance did something, and it was like—I don’t know, as if he broke the mind meld. Like cracking open a soufflé.” 

Shiro ignores the description of Lance and Keith’s flirting. It’s not like he can disagree with it anyway. “So it was Lance’s fault?” 

He immediately realizes that he probably shouldn’t have characterized it like that, because he can see Hunk’s expression harden defensively. “No,” Hunk retreats, “It wasn’t Lance’s fault. Like I said, I don’t know what happened.” 

“Right.” Shiro keeps his tone noncommittal, as he stares the Yellow Paladin down. 

Hunk scuffs his feet against the hull. “Should I go find them and bring them back?” he asks. His expression is full of concern and uneasiness, but he stares at Shiro like the other man has all the answers to the universe’s problems. 

Shiro sighs. 

Keith, he knows, is the sort of person who needs to come to water on his own, and Lance can be equally quick tempered. It’s always best to let him cool off if you want to have a reasonable conversation. Plus, none of Shiro’s attempts at mediation have proven successful in the past. It seems they are far better at working out their tension between themselves. 

Whatever methods that entails. 

“Nah,” Shiro says, his shoulders sagging, “Let’s just let them be for now. Maybe they’ll figure it out on their own.” 

Hunk snorts, clearly picking up what Shiro is dropping. “Alright, man, whatever. By the way, we got the plant roots that Coran wanted. I’m gonna go drop that off and then help him in the med bay. He promised to show me how the power generator stabilizer for the pods works.” 

Shiro nods. “Thanks again for the hard work with finding those plants,” he says, wanting to make sure that Hunk feels appreciated. Since Hunk is often the least dramatic and difficult of the Paladins, Shiro sometimes worries that he doesn’t always receive the attention he deserves. For instance, it is Hunk and Pidge who quite cleverly modified the bio-scanner that allowed them to search the planet in the first place. “And thanks for watching Lance’s back.” 

He thinks for a moment then changes direction, adding, “Do you think you could do me a favor, Hunk?” 

“What’s that?” 

“Well, everyone has been working so hard. I was thinking we should celebrate. You know, let loose a bit.” Shiro has to hide his grin as Hunk's face lights up at the words. 

“Oooh, really?” 

“Yeah. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, but I was thinking we should have a big cake and take the night off. After Keith and Lance get their heads out of their asses anyway. We can do something silly, like a board game.” 

“Oh my god, yes! I still haven’t gotten my revenge on Pidge for the last Resistance game at the garrison. Pidge is going down!” 

Shiro cuts in before Hunk can go off on a tangent. “Good, so we’re in agreement,” he says. He’s a bit jealous of how easy it is to get Hunk relaxed and excited. “Let’s make it a little bit of a surprise. How long do you think it’ll take you to get the ingredients together to make a cake?” 

Hunk frowns thoughtfully. “Hmn. I’ve got a flour and sugar substitute, but no emulsifier. That should be easy enough though; eggs are a pretty universal constant. It’s the baking powder that might be an issue...unless I do something that doesn’t need to rise—maybe an ice cream cake?” 

Shiro pulls Hunk into a hug, feeling the warm thrumming of the Yellow Paladin’s mind deepen as a result. “Just let me know if you need help.” 

Hunk huffs as he draws away. “No offense, but I could never trust you around something as precious as baking. Okay? It’s a precise science that requires delicate hands and thoroughness. Just leave it to me.” 

Shiro’s grin is drier than the Texan desert. “I’ll do that.” 

With that Hunk trots off, humming to himself in obvious excitement. _If only all of his problems were so easy to solve_ , Shiro thinks as he feels the pressure building behind his eyes from the odd metal strain of Lance and Keith. 

*** 

Shiro stays with his Lion even though being near her makes the clawing tension in the mind meld brighter and more potent. He knows it doesn’t make any sense, but he feels more in control if he can monitor the painful meld, even if he had no power to actually fix whatever the hell is going on with the Red and Blue Paladins. 

He's still there hours later when the strain just suddenly stops. As abruptly as it began, the harsh battering of Lance and Keith against each other ceases, and Shiro almost cries in relief. He hadn’t been aware of how much tension he was holding in until it disappeared entirely. _Jesus._

Next to him, the Black Lion sends him a whuff of faint amusement, as if she is laughing at his pain. He glares at her deceptively lifeless form, but the look has no heat. It’s almost like she is saying it’s his fault for the migraine, that his focusing so deeply on the mind meld is no better than a child poking at a sore bruise. 

He thinks he should probably close up shop. Dinner time had long since came and went, and none of the other Paladins came to find him. It must be a scrounge for yourself kind of night. But his mind is buzzing and his stomach more queasy than hungry, so he decides perhaps he will just stay a bit longer. There is a screw starting to strip in one of Black’s joints. She’s been subtly directing his attention to it at random times for a few days now. Though the Lions have incredible regenerative powers, Allura has explained that most of the time the energy it takes to do so isn’t worth minor repairs. So he pulls out a screwdriver and new screw, and settles down to get to work. The stripped joint is behind a lot of other machinery, meaning he will have to be delicate as he navigates his way to the correct spot. 

He’s so deep in his own world, that it takes him a few minutes to register the presence of another person. His muscles go taut for half a second before he recognizes Pidge’s fluttering mental touch. 

“I’m surprised you’re down here,” she says in lieu of a greeting. 

He pulls out a bit from where he’s under his Lion. “Hey Pidge. What’s up?” 

She drops a box full of wires and various other electronic stuff in front of her Lion. “Thinking about all the ways to murder Lance and Keith without getting caught.” 

He sits up and gives her his most grave look. “You should probably start with not divulging your plans to other people.” 

“Nahh. I’m recruiting.” She raises one doleful eyebrow at him. 

“In not sure I can support conspiracy to commit second degree murder,” he replies drily. “Seems a bit bad for morale.” 

“Can't be any worse than their incessant unresolved sexual tension. I thought that was supposed to stop after they had sex?” 

Shiro doesn’t want to admit that he thought the same thing. This is why dalliances between Paladins are such a bad idea. Not that he had the slightest clue how to prevent it. “Unfortunately, I think teenage boys will always be slaves to their dicks.” 

“They’re both eighteen. Not really teenagers,” she points out, her exasperation clear. “Though I’m just glad they finally stopped— _whatever_ ,” she adds. “They were giving me the worst fucking headache.” 

Shiro gives her a small smile. “Me too,” he admits. 

With that, she rolls her eyes and then starts rummaging through her tool box, and Shiro takes that as a cue that the conversation is over. He goes back to working on his own Lion. That state of companionable silence lasts for a while, until Pidge breaks it quite suddenly. 

“Shiro?” Pidge says. There’s something fragile and hesitant in her voice. It makes the hairs on the back of Shiro’s neck prickle. 

“Yeah.” 

“What if—what if I’m not like Lance or Keith or Hunk? Or—you?” 

Shiro doesn't turn towards her. His instinct tells him that she is only able to speak to him right now because she doesn’t have the pressure of his gaze meeting hers. He keeps his voice as neutral as possible. “What do you mean?” 

“They think I’m Pidge, a boy like them,” Pidge says, voice nearly as even as Shiro’s. But Shiro knows her well enough to catch the slight tremor. “And you think I’m Katie. A girl pretending to be a boy.” Pidge sighs. “But I’m not a boy. Not like them. That feels like a lie. Yet I’m also not Katie the girl, not anymore, if I ever really was. So I don’t know what that makes me.” 

Shiro feels the weight of his responsibility to this teenager like a smothering cloud. The wrong move here could be devastating, and she clearly trusts him to have come to him with these questions. But at the same time, Shiro himself has never before dealt with these issues about gender and sexuality. He feels completely unqualified to help her. But there’s no one else, not when they’re billions of miles out in space. No one else to be there for her. So, he has to get this right. 

“What do you feel like you are?” 

He can sense her pursed lips and pinched eyebrows even though he still hasn’t turned to look at her. “I just feel like Pidge.” 

“Okay,” he says deceptively easily, “Then just be Pidge. I don’t think you need a label unless you want one.” 

“Everyone has a label,” she replies. 

He finally sets down his screwdriver and turns to look at Pidge. She’s biting her lip. “Pidge,” he begins, “We’re five people however many billions of miles away from Earth right now, fighting an evil galactic empire with the help of magical, telepathic Lions. They only thing I care about, and I’m sure if you asked them, your teammates would say the same, the only thing we care about is that you’re comfortable. If you want me to use one particular pronoun, then I will. If you don’t want to talk about it with the others, that’s okay too. It’s not my place to take that decision away from you. And if you make one choice, and then decide later to change it, that’s also totally okay.” 

Pidge worried at her lip, to the point where Shiro starts to wonder about chafing. Finally, Pidge seems to come to a decision. She nods. “I don’t really know myself right now. I put so much of my energy to finding Matt and dad, that nothing else really mattered, you know?” 

Shiro nods silently. 

Pidge sighs again. “I think until I figure out who I am, I just want to be Pidge. That’s what Matt calls me.” She meets Shiro’s eyes, and he’s forced to confront the deep pain there. He swallows reflexively. 

Shiro asks very seriously, “How do you want me to think of you in my head?” He knows she hasn’t told the others yet that she isn’t the boy they believe her to be, so obviously he will continue to uphold that misdirection until she tells him otherwise. 

She immediately understands what he’s asking her. “I don’t know,” she says miserably. “This isn’t supposed to be a hard question. No one else has to think about this.” 

“Plenty of people have to think about it. We don’t all fit in neat little boxes,” Shiro replies. He cocks his head thoughtfully. 

“Matt knows me as ‘she,’” Pidge says as if that’s answer enough. 

“Okay then. For now, ‘she’ it is.” 

Pidge grins gratefully. “Thanks Shiro. You’re really good to talk to.” 

Shiro gives her an easy smile. “Anytime.” 

With that, Pidge is back to business. “So, I’ve been experimenting with the couplings in the Green Lions left leg engine, and I think—.” 

Thus, they go back to working on their Lions together, and Shiro feels a wave relief. Maybe he _can_ get through this without traumatizing one of his pilots. 

*** 

**Lance** 

Lance and Keith never talk about what happened in their Lions because that would imply that Keith has any sort of communication skills, which he clearly doesn’t. Instead, they go back to their uneasy truce within the group mind meld. 

The group mind meld which just gets weirder and weirder by the day. 

Allura says it’s completely normal, though Hunk makes the excellent point that what’s normal for Alteans or Galra or any other species isn’t necessarily normal for humans. But the longer they pilot the Lions, the less close they have to be to the actual Lions to feel both the Lions’ consciousness and each other’s. Outside the Lions, its far fainter, more like a background noise than actual awareness, but it’s still there, and it’s weird. 

Lance wonders when he got used to the humming of other’s thoughts constantly on the periphery of his awareness. It’s not like actual telepathy or anything. It has tones, but it’s usually impossible to pull a single person’s noise out unless Lance concentrates really hard. 

The entire group’s relationship continues to evolve alongside the meld. Pidge reveals that she is actually not a ‘he,’ and prefers the female pronoun, but also doesn’t mind ‘they.’ Lance thinks all the others who are swearing that they already knew are a bunch of dirty liars. Hunk maybe, but Keith is just not socially observant enough to pull that off. 

Sometime later that week, Hunk surprises everyone by announcing that he’s managed to bake not just a cake, but a turtle cheesecake, and Shiro follows up on that by announcing that they’re all taking the night off. After that announcement, Hunk, Lance, and Pidge argue vehemently about which board game they are all going to play. Lance doesn’t see why lacking an actual board should have any bearing on whether they play Risk or not. It’s not his fault that he’s the best at world domination. But Shiro betrays him in the end, siding with Hunk and Pidge by expressing his interest in Resistance, and of course Keith has to do everything Shiro wants to do. 

They have to explain the rules to Keith, Allura, and Coran, but it’s simple enough. With seven players, there are four ‘resistance fighters’ and three ‘spies.’ The goal of the resistance is to deduce the identity of the spies, and the goal of the spies is to trick the others into trusting at least one spy in three out of five rounds. It involves a lot of accusatory bickering and dramatic betrayals, especially as the rounds go on. They don't have a board for this either, but they make due by using some strange Altean tiles that Coran dug up from somewhere and just assigning meanings to the pictograms depicted there. 

As they’re setting up, Lance grumbles, “I don’t see why you guys want to play this anyway. The Voltron stuff is gonna make it pointless. We’ll all know who the traitors are.” 

“Dude, stop sulking,” Pidge says, poking him hard in the side. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. We’re way too far away from the Lions to get anything that detailed from each other.” 

Lance grumbles under his breath. They’ll see soon enough. Risk would have been a way better option. 

They finally get to the point of pulling tiles, and Lance draws a Resistance tile. That means he’s one of the good guys and has to deduce the traitors. After they all close their eyes, and the traitors see each other, the round starts. Lance keeps his eyes closed, focusing hard. The buzz of the others is there in the back of his mind like always, and like always, it’s a tangled mess, but he starts the process of pulling each of the Paladins apart in his mind. 

Keith is the easiest to find because he’s as violent and abrasive as always, but he’s not surging against Lance as strongly as he normally does. He’s almost—hiding. Hmn. And then there’s Pidge, whose curiously complex mind-touch is pointed outward. Her focus is clearly on the people around her, seeking. Shiro is the same, and Hunk is strangely tense. 

Lance opens his eyes. “Keith and Hunk are the traitors,” he says confidently. “Which leaves either Coran or Allura as the other.” With that, he leans back on his palms and gives them his most shit eating grin. 

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Nice ploy, Lance. But you can't draw our attention away from you that easily. The person who’s the loudest is usually the guiltiest.” 

“Uhhh, have you met me?” Lance demands in response. “Besides, look at how much Keith is blushing. Talk about guilty.” 

Keith is indeed turning a bright pink. He makes a face and says petulantly, “This game doesn’t make any sense.” 

At that Lance and Shiro exchange a glance. Pidge rolls her eyes. “You’re not supposed to just admit you’re a traitor, Keith,” she says as she shakes her head. “Come on, no one trusts anything Lance says. You totally could have pulled that off.” 

Keith just grumbles under his breath, looking mildly confused as Lance splutters in indignation at Pidge. 

“This is where I’m supposed to convince you that I’m not a traitor, right?” Coran asks, his face just as lost as Keith’s. All of the humans but Keith groan at that. 

“Okay,” says Pidge brightly. “New round. This time, please remember that you’re _not_ supposed to let the other people know you’re a traitor. Literally the point of the game here.” 

“But I don't want to be a traitor,” Allura says pensively, as she draws a new tile from the pile. 

Lance picks after her and gets resistance again. _Damn._ He actually likes being the traitor. As they go through the traitor choosing and begin a new round, Lance closes his eyes again to do what he did before. Keith is even tenser than before, and Lance is almost certain that the Red Paladin has pulled traitor again, and is panicking because of it. Shiro is intently focused on something, so much so that it’s distracting Lance from the others in the meld, so he tries to figure out what the hell their leader is so consumed by, only to jerk his eyes back open. 

Shiro is staring at him, mouth quirked in a half smile. “Quit cheating,” he admonishes gently. 

Pidge swears as she realizes what Lance was trying. “How the hell are you doing that, Lance? I can feel you guys, but it’s like—TV static or something. It doesn’t really mean anything.” 

Lane just shrugs, hiding his uneasiness behind nonchalance. He hadn’t realized that not all of them could sense the meld as clearly as he could. “What can I say? I’m just the talent.” 

“You’re something alright,” mutters Allura. 

“Hey!” 

Hunk interrupts him. “Well, I get to pick my group first. And I’m not sure I trust you, Lance.” 

Lance gives his friend his most haughty look. “Well, don’t pick Shiro. As the official Voltron mind reader, I’ve determined he is not to be trusted.” 

Shiro just smiles at him. 

In the end, Hunk can't get a quorum and the decision making passes on to Allura. She chooses herself, Hunk, and Shiro, and manages to get enough votes to have it pass through. They all wait anxiously as the three chosen anonymously give their tiles to Allura who reveals them painstakingly slowly. 

One of the three is a traitor card. 

Lance crows it triumph. “Did I tell you or did I tell you!? Shiro is a dirty traitor. Now, I hope you’ll finally trust me.” 

They don’t. 

The next group chosen is Allura and Pidge. Once again a traitor card comes through. Lance groans when he sees it. “Oh come on. You guys suck.” 

The Resistance only has one more chance to pick a team without traitors in it. It’s Lance’s turn, and he chooses Hunk, Coran, and himself. He thinks Keith and Shiro are traitors, and either Pidge or Allura have to be as well. However, as he anxiously turns over the tiles, one is a traitor. 

For a second all he can do it stare at the offending tile. “But—how?” 

Allura gives him a smug look. “Hahaha!” she cackles, her voice musical, “You have trusted me to your ultimate doom! Now your petty resistance is crushed forever! You will suffer ten thousand years of my maniacal rule!” 

“Wait we won?” asks Keith. 

“Oh my God Keith, you weren’t a traitor this round!” Pidge exclaims. “So no, you lost.” 

“Oh.” 

“Besides,” adds Pidge. “I’m clearly the ultimate ruler of the traitors. Allura, you can be my second in command. And Coran, you can be—uh, what do you want to be?” 

“General of the Warbleck Sah.” 

“Right. Of course.” 

Lance turns to Shiro. “But I could have sworn you were a traitor. You felt so guilty,” he says, feeling more betrayed by this than by his misplaced trust in Coran. 

Shiro just smiles at him. “I suppose you can't trust everything you sense about us after all.” 

Lance narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Wait a tick. You threw the game on purpose so that I couldn’t keep using the mind meld impressions reliably. That’s so devious!” 

With a shrug, Shiro replies remorselessly, “A smart combatant doesn’t use the same tactic twice in a row.” 

“But you made us lose!” Lance whines. 

Keith cuts in, “Wait, so we definitely lost. I was on your team?” 

“Oh my God!” 

*** 

**Shiro** 

Hunk’s cakes and the lovely game nights both quickly become traditions, and Shiro is proud of his Paladins. It’s one more sign of their growing camaraderie and friendship. 

Allura turns out to be terrifyingly competitive, and she and Pidge begin an epic rivalry of who can be the most devious and cunning in destroying the other. Cheating is flagrant on all sides. They have to get creative with the types of games they play since boards and pieces have to be cobbled together from what they can find lying around in the Castle, but it’s far better team bonding than getting locked out of the castle and shot at until they manage to form Voltron. 

Of course, it doesn’t stay that easy. Shiro is sitting alone on the half-moon couch one ‘morning’ reading a report from one of the resistance groups they’re allied with, when Pidge comes up to him. Pidge is fidgeting with her hands, her mind tightly curled away from the chaotically tangled ball of the now constant low level group meld. 

“Shiro,” Pidge announces, voice as serious as the Black Paladin has ever heard it. “I need your help.” 

Shiro immediately stiffens, mind jumping to all the worst possibilities: Pidge has finally broken something vital in her tinkering with Castle or Lions. She’s trying to leave again. Perhaps she’s got some horrible disease. He slowly sits up. “What’s goin’ on?” 

Pidge’s gaze briefly flickers to his, like she isn’t fooled at all by his calm demeanor. “I’m conducting an experiment, and I need a test subject. You’re the only one I trust not to make it weird.” 

Pidge walks closer and stops extremely close to Shiro. So close that it makes him slightly uncomfortable. 

“Okaay?” 

“So you’ll help me?!” Pidge exclaims as she gives him huge, distraught puppy-dog eyes. 

“Sure, anything,” Shiro agrees, but he doesn’t have a good feeling about this. He’s about to ask for clarification, however, Pidge doesn’t give him the chance. 

She beams, “Thanks, Shiro. I knew I could count on you!” 

Suddenly, he has an armful of gangly limbs, and Pidge’s mouth is latched onto his, clumsy and insistent. For half a second his mind is completely blank, his body frozen. Pidge gamely sucks on his lips, although Shiro isn’t responding at all. It feels a bit like what Shiro imagines attaching a vacuum hose to his face would feel like. He tries to drag his arm in between them, but before he can, Pidge has scrambled back, her eyebrows narrowed, mouth pursed. The whole thing lasts maybe five seconds. 

“What—what the hell was that?” Shiro splutters. He’s not entirely sure, but he thinks Pidge just tried to kiss him. Either that, or she’s working on her Roomba impression. 

Pidge bites her lips instead of immediately answering. “Hmn,” she mutters thoughtfully as Shiro continues to let his mouth hang open in bewilderment. “I didn’t expect that. You’re a terrible kisser, Shiro,” she adds and makes a face. “Really, your mouth is kinda like a dead fish.” 

“Excuse me!?” Shiro blinks at her. _A dead fish!? How is this even happening right now?_

“Like, are lips supposed to be that weirdly poofy?” 

He’s starting think he should be mildly offended at the disparagement of his perfectly normal lips. “What!?” 

“I’m trying to figure it out,” Pidge replies with a noise like Shiro is being particularly slow today. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a notepad as if she intends to start jotting down notes. 

“Figure out what?!” 

“What I like, obviously. Or rather, who I like.” 

Shiro blinks at her. “You mean your sexual orientation?” 

Pidge waves off the question, replying with frantic scribbling, “Yeah, exactly. But now I don’t know if you’re just bad at it, or if I don’t like men.” 

“That’s why God invented porn, Pidge!” Shiro says with a strangled choke. “Jesus Christ. You can't just go around jumping random people.” 

Pidge stubbornly talks over Shiro, ignoring his comment, “All Lance and Hunk ever talk about is either their dicks or someone else’s dick or boobs or whatever. And I just don’t care about any of that, but then I started to worry, what if there’s something wrong with me, you know? That’s when it hit me. Normally, when I don’t know the answer to something, I research it and conduct an experiment, get empirical evidence and all that. But clearly I have a sample size issue since you’re all men. I mean, I guess Allura is basically a woman, but she’s also an alien, so my lack of attraction to her might just be that. I don’t know!!” 

Shiro just stares blankly at the Green Paladin, until she snaps uncomfortably, “Well!?” 

He makes himself wrangle his mind back into order. He suspects that any second now, Lance is going to come around the corner with a camera and a shit eating grin. Either that or he’s dead, and hell is torturing him through pure, inescapable mortification. 

He puts on his best dad face. “First of all, you absolutely cannot go around kissing people without consent. Under no circumstances is that okay.” 

“Oh.” Pidge frowns at him. “I thought you wouldn’t mind, that you’d rather I try with you than any of the others. I didn’t really think that one through, did I?” For the first time, Pidge actually looks chagrined. She bites her lip again and avoid Shiro’s direct gaze. 

Shiro lets out a slow sigh. At least he’s gotten that particular point across. “No you didn’t. And I wouldn’t say that Lance and Hunk are the normal model of sexual expression. You don’t have to be the same as them. Keith doesn’t spend all his time thinking about sex, does he?” 

Rather than agreeing, Pidge gives him an incredulous look. “Not talking about sex isn’t the same as not thinking about it. Keith is probably the dirtiest one out of all of us.” She makes a pained face, and adds conspiratorially. “We share a wall.” 

Shiro absolutely cannot think about what Keith does or does not get up in the privacy of his room. “We’re getting off topic,” he says, trying to maintain his authority as Pidge smirks at him. “I think it’s great that you’re trying to discover yourself. But you have to be careful if you involve other people in that, okay? No more jumping unsuspecting bystanders.” 

To his great relief, Pidge nods in apparent acceptance, and then says earnestly, “I’m sorry Shiro. I wasn’t being thoughtful, and I didn’t mean to do that you.” 

Shiro doesn’t have to consider his response to that for more than half a tick. “I forgive you,” he replies. He pats the space next to him, and Pidge gratefully sits, immediately snuggling up under his armpit. 

Pidge burrows into him like a particularly bony puppy. Once she is comfortable, one elbow pressed deeply into Shiro’s side, she adds slyly, “You’re still a terrible kisser though.” 

He can feel her lack of ill-intent behind the jab, so he lets the haughtiness of his tone be just ridiculous enough to show he’s teasing. “I’ll have you know, that I was famous at the garrison. In fact, they used to call me Shiro the Player because I was so popular with the ladies, and I promise you, no one had any complaints.” He wraps his arms around Pidge as he speaks, holding her close. 

“Whatever, Casanova,” Pidge dismisses with a loud snort. It tickles Shiro’s armpit and he has to fight not to squirm. 

Shiro had indeed been no such thing at the garrison. A dalliance here or there, but he was too serious, too aware of his responsibilities to easily let loose, even back then. It was one of the reasons he and Keith had always gotten along so well, despite being in different classes. Keith has never demanded that he be anything but what he was, and Shiro has always done same. A couple of far too serious outcasts, one alone due to scorn and the other mass admiration. 

“Does that mean I can try again with you?” Pidge asks, her tone still sly and teasing. “Let you redeem yourself?” 

Oh, Shiro cannot handle this. “Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “I have a firm policy against anyone that doesn’t pass the divide by two and add seven years rule.” 

He struggles to think of how to diplomatically add that he’s just not into her that way, when she starts snorting and giggling. “I can almost hear your panicked inner monologue, Shiro. Chill. You’re like practically my dad. That’s why I thought it would work out as an experiment.” 

“I’m not that old,” Shiro mutters. “I was thinking more like really cool older brother.” 

“Geriatric older brother.” 

“I will push you off this couch,” he warns darkly. 

She just snorts again, completely unafraid, and snuggles closer. He leans into her too. Sitting here with Pidge, Shiro thinks it’s nice to just be still with someone, especially when they’re not attacking his face. Even if that someone is the boniest, scrawniest person Shiro has ever met. The racing jabber of Pidge’s presence in the mind meld has even calmed down, smoothed out into something easier to follow and fit around. Shiro sighs contentedly. 

“I miss Matt.” Pidge’s voice is soft, vulnerable. Shiro can't help how his arms tighten in response, but she ignores his vice grip, continuing, “We used to talk about stuff like this. He would understand.” 

There’s a heavy weight in Shiro’s chest that has nothing to do with the hundred-pound teenager currently draped over it. “I miss him too,” he admits, his voice just as soft. 

They don’t have to say anything else. Sometimes it’s enough to know you’re not alone in your grief. 

*** 

**Lance** 

That afternoon, Lance and Keith are looking for a certain wire that Coran says he needs for something . . . something . . . the navigation system. Honestly Lance stopped listening, but Shiro and Allura are working on some negotiation plan, Hunk is fixing the gun on the shuttle, and Pidge is nowhere to be found. Apparently, Lance and Keith having a competition to see who can climb to the top of the hanger bay balcony the fastest is not an appropriate use of their time. _Whatever._

So now he and Keith are searching through various electronic and mechanical storerooms. Coran insists that it has to be somewhere, and they don’t have the cash to go out and buy another willy-nilly. 

There are a lot of storerooms. 

They could have split up and searched faster, but they don’t, and neither one suggests it either, strangely enough. There is still a fragility to their relationship, but they spend more time joking around now than fighting, and it’s nice. At least, Lance thinks so. 

It’s been about an hour when they come up to a door that opens into a huge room full of miscellaneous junk that Pidge has claimed her ownership of. 

“Wouldn’t Pidge know if the stupid Treacle Windig-thingy wire were in her room?” 

Keith shrugs. “Have you been in here recently? It’s like Narnia. She’s been collecting all kinds of stuff to experiment with and stuffing it in here.” 

“Yeah, that’s what I’m not excited about,” Lance grumbles. 

They open the door and carefully climb over piles of junk. They both have to twist sideways and follow a narrow path that has been left between the stacks. “Dude, we should just ask her later. There’s no way we’ll actually find anything in here,” Lance says as he narrowly avoids creating a cascading avalanche. 

“I know she keeps a box of wires somewhere near the back. We’ll check that at least,” Keith insists. 

That’s when it happens. 

Keith stops dead, and Lance nearly runs into him. “Dude, the fuck?” As he regains his balance, Lance cranes over the Red Paladin’s shoulder only to see Pidge sitting cross-legged in front of her jerry-rigged laptop, headphones in. He tries to see what’s on her screen, but Keith pushes him back at the same time, his touch sudden and insistent. Keith’s eyes are glued to the floor, his face blooming a bright, cherry red. 

Though he tries, he doesn’t manage to move Lance back before the Blue Paladin catches what Pidge is looking at on her screen. “Oh My God, is that porn?!” Lance shrieks. 

Though Pidge’s headphones are in, no sound canceling can overcome the power of Lance’s voice. She jerks around suddenly, slamming her laptop shut as she does so. It’s too little too late. 

Keith glares at Lance, his exasperation clear. “Dude!” 

Pidge pulls her headphones off. “What are you doing?” she shrieks, somehow still managing to be less high-pitched than Lance. 

“What am I doing? What are you doing? You have porn!?” 

“We were just leaving,” Keith says firmly as he tugs on Lance’s arm. 

The Blue Paladin refuses to budge. “No way, man. She’s had porn this whole time, and she hasn’t shared!? Do you know how hard it’s been for me with just the spank bank for inspiration? And’s she had this the whole time? No fair!” Pidge’s shoulders are taut, like she is preparing for a battle rather than chatting with Lance and Keith. Her gaze towards Lance is wary, but before she can respond to him, he has another revelation. “Wait a minute. Does that mean you’ve managed to get signals from Earth? I thought we were too far away! You had contact with Earth and you didn’t tell me?” 

That accusation finally breaks her silence. “No,” she replies hastily. “It’s not from Earth. I found another mostly humanoid species and hacked their satellite communications. I’m—experimenting.” 

“Of which we have no interest in hearing about,” Keith says. Once again he tries to pull on Lance, and one again he is thwarted. 

“Let me see,” Lance demands. Keith groans. 

Pidge rolls her eyes, but she complies, opening her laptop back up. It boots and then goes back to the video it was playing. Pidge explains, “I was just trying to figure out what I like, you know? And this is the most humanoid species that I could find porn for. You kinda have to ignore their hands.” 

“I am not participating in this,” Keith says, turning his nose up. 

Lance and Pidge watch for a moment while Keith pretends to be uninterested. Almost immediately, Lance sucks in a breath and says, “What the fuck?” 

“I told you, you have to ignore the hands.” 

To no one’s surprise, Lance suddenly feels Keith’s weight on his shoulder as the Red Paladin finally breaks down and joins them. For a moment Keith only stares blankly at the screen, then he asks, “How the hell are you supposed to ignore that?” 

“Are those feelers?” Lance asks in fascination. “They’re hairy.” 

“It’s called Vibrissae, I think,” Keith replies as he watches the figures on screen. At Lance’s incredulous look, he snarls, “I liked bugs and animals as a kid. Sue me.” 

Ignoring Keith’s defensive tone, Lance shudders. “Can you imagine that on your dick?” 

“No,” Pidge deadpans. 

Wisely neither Lance nor Keith reply to that. They both end up sitting down, squashed next to Pidge in the space left by the junk. 

A few minutes of wide-eyed watching later, Keith comments, “It’s so—wriggly.” 

“That is not what a dick is supposed to do,” Lance agrees. “This is really the most humanoid you could find?” 

“I’d to see you do better,” Pidge snaps sarcastically. “Oh wait . . .” 

They’re so engrossed that none of them notice another’s approach until Hunk is right behind them, calling out, “Hey Pidge, are you in here? I wanted your opinion on the anti-gravity calibration in the shuttle—Oh hey, what are you guys watching?” 

Keith answers first. “Porn.” 

“Dude!” Lance groans. “Don’t say it like that. You make it sound weird.” 

Keith just looks at him. 

Lance huffs, then turns to Hunk. “Pidge has been holding out on us, man.” 

“Ooh, let me see,” Hunk requests, leaning over them in the increasingly confined space. As he watches, his eyebrows climb up to his headband. “Is that—?” 

“Feelers,” Pidge affirms. “Yep.” 

“Huh.” 

“What are you doing?” All four teenagers jump at the sound of Shiro’s voice behind them. 

“Does no one knock!?” Pidge grumbles as she tries to hide her screen. Once again, she is far too slow. 

“Is that—porn?” Shiro asks, his eyes wide as tea cups. 

“No!” both Lance and Hunk reply, just as Keith responds with, “Yes.” 

“Dude,” Lance hisses at the Red Paladin. 

Keith gives him an innocent look. “What?” Lance can only shake his head. Keith is officially hopeless. 

Shiro too, shakes his head. “I don’t even—Okay. I’m just going to go back to Coran and pretend like this never happened. Just—yeah. Please bring us that Treacle Windigonleth wire when you find it.” 

“Treacle Windigonleth?” Pidge pipes up before he can move away. “I’ve got one in my wire box.” 

Both Keith and Lance try to shoot each other a triumphant look at the same time. Lance narrows his eyes. “I was right that she would know where it was.” 

Keith doesn’t let him have the win. “And I was right that it was in the wire box.” 

“Have you seen the size of that wire box?” 

“Here.” Pidge dumps a handful of messy wires in Lance’s arms. “Now get out of my room.” She narrows her eyes. “All of you.” 

*** 

Later, Lance is searching the fridge close to ‘midnight’ when Pidge comes up to him again. 

“Hey, Lance?” she asks. 

“Mnm,” he replies around a mouthful of cookie. Swallowing, he clarifies, “What’s up?” 

She crosses her arms in front of her chest as she meets his gaze. “You’re bi, right?” 

“Uh,’ he replies as he tries to figure out why she is suddenly asking him about this. “Bi, pan. Something like that.” 

She sighs. “What does it feel like?” 

“What does what feel like?” Lance swallows another mouthful of cookie. 

“Your attraction. Like is it the same for both? How do you know?” 

He cocks his head as he considers her. Then he purposely walks over and sits at the counter. After a moment’s hesitation, she follows him. “Honestly no one’s ever really asked me that before,” he replies. “I think they’re afraid it’ll offend me or something.” He thinks for another moment as she watches him silently, then says, “It is different, at least with me. Like, I always knew I was attracted to women. I’d notice them, you know? I’d feel it.” 

“What does it feel like though?” 

“Hmn. Like a warmth in my stomach.” As she frowns, he tries to think of a better description. “Like, you know when the gravity stabilizer doesn’t quite keep up with your dive in a shuttle and your stomach feels like it’s flying into your chest? It’s like that, but better.” 

“I’d hope better,” she mutters. 

Lance continues, “I notice women right away, like walking down the street or whatever. But it’s different with men, or at least masculine presenting people, I guess.” Pidge is giving him her rapt attention as he speaks. It doesn’t make him uncomfortable exactly, but it does make him think more carefully about his words than he normally would have. “I don’t notice guys as quickly. But when I do, it’s like bam! Total obsession. I realized I was bi after I started crushing on this dude in middle school. It was totally embarrassing. I got up on the table and sang him a song in the cafeteria.” 

Pidge giggles at the picture he draws, and he grins good-naturedly as well. “What happened?” Pidge demands after she catches her breath. 

“With my crush?” he clarifies. As she nods, he says, “Oh, he laughed his ass off at me. God, my sister even got a video of the whole thing. She used to try to show it to my dates when I’d bring them home until I hacked her diary, and we had to call a truce or face mutually assured destruction.” 

Lance falls silent as he gets lost in the memories of his family. Pidge seems to sense where his thoughts have gone though, because she says, “That’s why we’re doing this, right? So people can make those sorts of memories in peace. Even if it means we don’t get to make our own.” 

Lance catches her gaze. “You don’t think we’re making our own happy memories right now?” What he means is, _you don’t think we’re making our own little family here?_

“You mean in between the trying not to die and fighting an overwhelming evil empire?” Pidge asks him dryly. 

“Well, yeah.” 

“It doesn’t replace my other ones,” she replies softly. 

Lance frowns. “It doesn’t have to. Take it from someone with a very big family already. Adding new members and making new memories doesn’t diminish the old ones. It just gives you more people to love.” 

For a second they are both silent, then Pidge snorts. “That is maybe the cheesiest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I’ve heard you sing the Captain Planet theme song un-ironically.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, heating climbing up his neck. 

“Thanks Lance,” she adds, before he can get too offended. “Really. You’re almost as good to talk to as Shiro when you’re not trying to overcompensate.” 

He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Thank you? I think.” 

Pidge slides off her stool. “Goodnight Lance.” 

As he watches her leave, Lance thinks he probably missed the significance of half that conversation. _Oh well._ He waves at her retreating back. “Night.” 

__

*** 

__


	4. Alternate Ways to Mark Xenophilia off of Your Kink Bingo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's porn y'all. With a healthy dash of ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Takes place after the Trials of Marmora episode.

*~*Shiro*~* 

Shiro would never admit out loud that Keith is his favorite Paladin. _Although, it’s true._

Because Keith and Shiro have a bond that stretches all the way back to when they were both at the Garrison. Keith truly _saw_ Shiro back then, not the hero, but the man. And so, Keith is in some ways one of the last people that Shiro wanted to see when he crash landed back on Earth, because Keith is one of the precious few people who could truly see how damaged the Black Paladin has become. 

Although the other Paladins don’t judge Shiro for still having nightmares and fears, they don’t know him any differently. They don’t remember before. But Keith does. 

And so, when Keith wraps his mental presence around Shiro in the meld, when he anchors himself to Shiro an intimate display of trust, _well,_ it gets to Shiro. 

_Keith._

_Galra._

Shiro wants to say he’s surprised. That he never saw this coming, never could have guessed. But if one of them had to discover some strange alien ancestry, well, it wouldn’t have been Hunk. 

“You’re going to tell them,” Keith says, his expression miserable and drawn. They’ve made it through the Trials of Marmora, and now they’re in the Red Lion, about to reconvene with the others. Keith’s misery twines through every place they are connected, made stronger by the fact that they’re in his Lion. 

Shiro shakes his head as gently as he can. “I don’t think we can exactly hide it,” he replies, tapping the side of his head with a half grimace. 

Keith clenches his fists, clearly understanding what Shiro is referencing. “I hate this,” he mutters, “I miss my fucking privacy.” 

That’s at least partially a lie, but Shiro doesn’t argue with him. Instead, he asks, “Is it really so bad? I mean, nothing about you has changed, just your understanding of what—of who you are. If you’re half Galra, then you’ve always been that way.” 

For Shiro, despite the trauma he’s endured, it’s that simple. Whatever Keith is, he was also that when they were together at the Garrison. Keith was whatever he’s always been when Shiro woke up on that table in the Texan desert. When Shiro followed him to the Blue Lion. Shiro has no right to say that now the Red Paladin frightens him. 

Keith lets out a bitter laugh. “And I’ve always been an outcast, Shiro. Don’t deny it; you know it’s the truth. Though I guess you’re right. At least now I have an explanation.” With that, he huffs out another bitter laugh. 

“Whatever you are, you look pretty human to me.” 

Keith shoots him a dark look. “But I don’t think like one. You know that better than anyone.” 

No, Keith doesn’t think like the rest of them. It’s one of those open secrets that’s not really a secret. Keith has to fight to reach them in the mind meld. He is always either too much, too overwhelming and dangerous, or nearly unreachable. Temperance has never been one of Keith’s strong suites, but Shiro doesn’t necessarily think it has anything to do with his Galran ancestry. 

Shiro lays his hand on his younger friend’s shoulder, only for Keith to flinch away. “Sorry,” Keith mutters through clenched teeth. 

“Don’t be.” Hesitantly, Shiro reaches again towards Keith, waiting for the inevitable retreat. But this time, Keith remains still. He tenses, but he doesn’t move away, and Shiro takes that as permission to wrap the Red Paladin in a full body hug. 

Keith hugs like someone who hasn’t had a lot of practice. He pats Shiro awkwardly, then crushes his head into Shiro’s shoulder. “I’m afraid of myself sometimes,” he says. 

Shiro closes his eyes and tightens his grip, achingly aware of his metal hand. “So am I,” he admits. 

“I know.” 

Shiro blinks, then leans his head back to look at Keith. Very, very deliberately, he lifts his Galran arm to press against Keith’s cheek and then run his thumb down the soft skin there. He can't truly feel with this hand, though he does have a dull sense of pressure and texture. 

The Red Paladin shudders at his touch. “Shiro,” he whispers. 

“I’m right here.” Shiro has no idea what he’s doing, but he doesn’t have to guess at how Keith is reacting to him because he can feel the other Paladin pressing against his mind. And in return, he wants Keith to feel how much Shiro _sees_ him, how unafraid of the half-Galra he is. Keith clutches at Shiro like a child, both in the meld and here in the Lion. 

“Don’t leave me again,” begs Keith, his mind invading Shiro’s like if he can just fill in all the creases, burrow himself in deep enough, then Shiro can never shake him away. 

“Never,” Shiro promises. He tries to put the truth of his words in his own touch against Keith, but it’s like drowning. Keith is too much. The Red Paladin overpowers him with fear and despair. The sensation is painful in an esoteric, far-removed sort of way. The instinct to hide, to curl defensively away from the onslaught is overwhelming. His mind freezes like tensed deer on the precipice of flight. Teeth gritted, he repeats, “Keith. _Keith._ ” 

Just as Shiro nearly gives in to the instinct to fight the meld, to form a wall between himself and his Paladin, he feels another enter the fray. The Black Lion is as alien to Keith as Keith is to Shiro, but the presence of the strange sentient machine firmly wraps around them both, shoring up Shiro’s defenses where they have fallen. There is a stillness to the Lion that soothes Shiro. Its senses are duller than theirs, its feelings more muted and stretched out. It remembers a time long before either of them existed, and it will be here long after they are both gone. 

_Weary tolerance._ MY ARMS ALWAYS CHOOSE SUCH DIFFICULT FICKLE CREATURES. IT IS IN THEIR NATURE. The feeling in Shiro’s mind is like a sigh. He can almost see the Black Lion shaking its head, even though the Black Lion is thousands of miles away. 

Another presence grows then, smaller and less encompassing than the touch of the Black Lion, but it pushes back against the Black almost possessively. Shiro senses sly amusement, and then the Black Lion is gone, replaced by the protectiveness of the Red. 

MINE. The roar of the Red is as crushing and intense as its Paladin, violent, hot, and possessive. It lasts only for an instant, washing over both Paladins as the Red Lion stakes a claim on what is hers. She surrounds Keith with one last defiant roar. Then both Lions are gone or at least faded back to their customary background hum, leaving Shiro and Keith alone to deal with the whiplash of sensations. 

Shiro staggers against the hull, then coughs once he gathers himself together again. “Well, that was—different.” 

Still half hanging on Shiro’s chest, Keith laughs shakily. “I still can't believe this is my life sometimes.” 

“Compared to the Lions, being half alien really doesn’t seem so strange, does it?” Shiro says, raising his eyebrow significantly. 

Keith’s shaken look turns into a sullen glare. “Easy for you to say.” 

Shiro shrugs. He spins around in a circle and gestures at the dull, warm glow of the Red Lion’s interior lights. “Just seems to me that the Red Lion could care less about who or what your parents are. She seems to like you just fine.” 

Keith grumbles under his breath but doesn’t actually argue back. “Let’s just go home.” 

Shiro gives him one last squeeze because he can and because Keith has clearly not received enough hugs in his short life. Then he backs away to let Keith concentrate on getting them safely away from the Blade of Marmora Base. 

*~*~* 

Telling the others goes exactly as one might expect. 

Lance shrieks and splutters, while Hunk and Coran both just look confused. Allura’s eyes go cold and defensive, whereas Pidge has the gall to say, “If that’s everything, I have this really delicate experiment I’m working on,” and then she proceeds to saunter off. Shiro is afraid that the shock will reverberate through the mind meld like their various fights tend to do, but the mental reaction to Keith’s revelation is muted. At least, until Lance seems to finally process what Keith is telling him. 

“No. No way, dude,” Lance says firmly as he straightens himself up from his slouch in his customary chair on the bridge. 

Keith’s shoulders curl at that, and Shiro senses an explosion coming. He needs to diffuse his two most volatile Paladins, but Lance beats Shiro to the punch. 

“You can't be half Galra.” 

Keith speaks through gritted teeth. “And why is that exactly?” 

_“Keith,”_ Shiro warns. 

Lance continues on, completely oblivious, “Because that would mean I fucked, like, an actual alien.” 

The room goes silent except for the humming of machinery. Keith stands frozen, his mouth half open in reply. 

The silence expands around them, growing longer and longer until the wire that Hunk has been chewing on drops out of his mouth. He scrambles to catch it. Meanwhile, Allura glances back between the Red and Blue Paladins, then at Shiro like this is somehow his fault. Shiro takes her cue, stepping forward. “Lance, that is a completely inappropriate comment to make in public,” he admonishes, “I’m sure Keith would appreciate you being a little more discreet—.” 

“You fucking ASSHOLE!” Keith shouts, his words blasting across Shiro’s. “I can’t believe you!” 

Lance, at least, has the sense to look chagrined. “Uh, that came out wrong, didn’t it—?” 

Keith seems to be inflating with indignant rage, his stance broadening as he gathers himself up. Shiro strides up to him and places a steady hand on his shoulder before the Red Paladin can set that energy free. “Keith,” Shiro murmurs, intentionally keeping his voice quiet, “Take a deep breath. You know he didn't mean it to hurt you.” 

The struggle is evident on Keith’s face. His fists clench and unclench. He looks at Shiro, then at Lance, then back at Shiro, before finally turning away to stare at a spot on the wall. “Whatever.” 

Later, when Shiro isn't in the middle of the crisis, when he has time to think things through, he would realize that this isn't how Keith best deals with his own emotions. Keith needs to express his outrage; He _needs_ the release that an outburst gives him. Thus, there is a moment where it seems like everything might calm back down. Lance stares at Keith with a guilty expression, fidgeting in his chair, and Keith is visibly controlling his breathing. The others are silent as the mind meld whirrs with anxious energy. 

Then all hell breaks loose. 

Shiro can separate out Keith most clearly since Keith always has a different, courser feel than the others. The Red Paladin’s usual deep entanglement with Lance is strained and taut, like a knot being pulled in different directions. Shiro can sense the silent communication happening, too complex for him to follow. He feels Keith’s resolve change, feels him come to some sort of decision. Keith’s energy suddenly reeks of determination; the kind of rashness he is infamous for. His eyes narrow, and the silence hums with potent energy. 

Then the meld cleaves. That’s the only way Shiro can think to describe it. Keith jerks himself away from Lance, an action which reverberates throughout the entire meld. Like throwing a dart through a spider’s web, all the interwoven strings tear apart. Pulling away from Lance also collapses Keith’s connection to Hunk, which in turn, stretches the Red Paladin’s connection to Pidge down to a gossamer string. It even weakens his tie to Shiro, though not quite as badly. 

Without the evenness of everyone being connected to everyone else, Shiro suddenly feels the pressure of the other three minds bearing down on his. Even though the meld itself is muted from them all being away from their Lions, the others reach for Keith through Shiro. The reaching feels almost instinctual, an automatic attempt to repair their interwoven connections. 

As the other Paladins bear down, impulsively trying to break through the barrier Keith has established and reform the Voltron bond, a stabbing pain radiates across Shiro’s scalp. He sees a flash of shimmering auras and hears the rush of blood thudding in his ears. He groans and clutches at his temples. Someone is shouting, but all he can focus on is what’s going on directly in his brain. 

_Keith, please don’t do this._ He realizes faintly that it isn't just the others battering against Keith. Through some strange instinct, he’s doing it too, and far more powerfully. There’s a dominance to the way Shiro reaches for Keith, a dominance that reeks of the stillness of the Black Lion. He can almost see the Red Lion stalking agitatedly, lashing back and forth as Shiro increases the pressure of his press against the barrier Keith has erected. He doesn’t hammer, but rather pushes relentlessly, gentle yet inescapable. 

_He might belong to you, Red, but you are both mine._ Shiro’s to protect and guide. 

Somewhere someone is shouting. 

“What did you do?!” 

“Nothing! I don’t know what’s happening.” 

“It feels like the Lions are fighting each other or something.” 

“You’re the one fighting, Keith! I’m telling you, this is your fault. What did you do?” 

“I was mad at you! That’s it! Are you really saying that I can't even be pissed at you when you’re being an asshole?!” 

“It’s not just that you’re mad though. You did something to the group brainwave thingy.” 

Someone has a broad shoulder under Shiro’s arm. He feels himself being lifted up into a sitting position. That has to be Hunk; He’s the only one strong enough to lift Shiro alone. “Dude, can you hear me?” The question is coupled by a renewed push of Hunk’s mind, now trying to help Shiro where he is falling apart from the onslaught of all of them together. It’s both comforting and too much. 

_“Please,”_ rasps Shiro. _“Please.”_

Hunk’s panicked voice. “Uh, guys?!” 

“I don’t always want to be in your brain twenty-four seven! Especially, when you’re being an unbearable dickhead.” 

Shiro hears the clatter of a door being opened, and then Pidge’s voice joins the mix. “What the hell happened? Why can't I feel Keith anymore? And everyone else feels—wrong. What did you do?” 

“All of you need to calm down right now. This isn't helping,” Allura says over the din of the argument. Shiro looks up briefly to see her eyes are oddly bright, almost glowing. Then she adds, “The places where your quintessence has merged are in distress. You all need to focus. Just like when you’re forming Voltron or attempting a difficult move together. Focus all of your attention on each other and the Lions.” When Keith and Lance both take too long to close their eyes she snaps, “Now!” 

Keith is a vibrating mass of virulent energy, impossible to connect to and fully pull into the meld. But he also can't seem to tear himself completely away from them either, despite his best effort at being unapproachable. 

Shiro focuses even harder, trying to visualize information that the human brain was never meant to interpret. He hadn’t realized until now how much each of them relies on the others to connect to everyone in the meld, how much they all support each other’s reachings. With one of them missing, it’s like—well, it’s like trying to form Voltron without one of the limbs. 

And suddenly Shiro understands why this is so painful and destructive. “Everyone needs to focus on withdrawing back into themselves,” he says, his eyes still squeezed shut. “Trying to keep up this mind meld thing while we’re not all on the same page is what’s causing this. Just like trying to form Voltron when we’re not all focused on it.” 

“I’m not trying to do anything,” Lance complains. “None of us chose to have each other in our heads constantly. It just kinda happened.” Lance has a point. Until now, Shiro hasn’t even considered that they can actively undo the way the Lions have been entangling all of their essences. The idea feels— _wrong_. 

Shiro doesn’t let his frustration show. “Well, try now. I know it’s hard, and this is like trying to control a brand new limb, but I believe in you. Just slow down and focus.” 

Keith is still almost separate from them, despite their various efforts. Even so, Shiro takes his own advice and does his best to pull back further, to disentangle himself from the grip of the other four minds. It’s like walking where you expect there to be a step, only to drop into nothingness. He doesn’t like it. The pain changes as they all work on pulling apart from each other. It’s a duller pain than the stabbing sensation of the meld gone wrong, but still strange and disconcerting. 

Allura hums to herself, “I didn’t realize quite how much your human minds had adapted to the quintessence exposure of each other and the Lions. You truly are an amazing species.” Her eyes automatically lift to Keith’s, then back down. 

A prickle crawls across Shiro’s spine. Somewhere he hears another woman speaking as she stands over him. _“His adaptation to quintessence exposure is remarkable.”_ He hazily sees a syringe filled with a glowing purple substance. _“Truly an amazing specimen.”_ For a second, all he can smell is antiseptic and something sour, the essence of the medical room where the Galra experimented on him. He hears the hissing of machines, the whirring of a blade. 

Before he can truly panic, he feels the cool touch of human skin, and he is back in the Castle with the others. “I’m not sure I would call that adaptation,” Hunk says dryly as he presses his hand against Shiro’s forehead. “Dude, are you okay?” 

Shiro does his best to dispel the triggered memory. He gives Hunk his most reassuring look. “Surprisingly enough, yeah. I don’t feel like you guys are trying to break into my mind anymore.” Through some unspoken instinct, they all turn to look at Keith at the same time. The Red Paladin has his arms crossed over his arm defensively, a scowl forming on his mouth. 

Allura continues speaking as the others stare at Keith. She has the excited, fretful tone of a scholar on the cusp of discovery. “The shared pain that you all just experienced speaks to a resonance that I didn’t think you had come close to achieving yet. That was something that the original Paladins only began to experience years into their shared lives.” She looks at Keith again and can't seem to stop her lips from pursing. 

Keith sees it, and his eyes grow harder, his retreat from the others even more solid. There’s tension and discomfort in how all of them stand. Lance fidgets, shoulders hunched. Pidge’s gaze darts around the room like a moth. Shiro can feel her desire to hide like a physical sensation, an ache in his chest. 

Shiro sighs, doing his best to put on a soothing air despite how unnerved he himself feels. “We’ve known for a while now that being a part of Voltron was changing us. I think all of us have felt the connections to each other’s minds growing stronger even when we’re not in the Lions.” He looks around and one by one the others nod warily. He continues firmly, “Our Lions haven’t led us astray yet, nor have they done anything to hurt us. This connection comes straight from them.” 

Hunk is the first to respond. “I get that, but I don’t think the Voltron bond itself is the issue, right? The problem is how it amplifies _everything._ Like, Keith and Lance nearly just knocked you out.” 

“Hey!” protests Lance, but it’s weak, and he falls silent when the others don't react. 

“The bond’s not hurting us since we dialed it back or whatever just now…” adds Pidge as the moment of silence stretches out. Her face is thoughtful. 

Shiro doesn’t quite agree with that assessment. While it’s true that the stabbing pain has subsided now that they are all concentrating on remaining within themselves, it’s not what he would call comfortable. How strange, that within a few months they’ve all gotten so used to vaguely sharing their mental space that the lack of meld is disconcerting. 

He wonders why, besides during a couple of their fights, they’ve never really tried to pull apart from each other until now. For himself, the drive to be better, to form Voltron quicker and stronger, has kept him from considering trying to undo the mental bond the Lions have been weaving. Even when he really would rather have his privacy, like when the nightmares are particularly bad. It’s just snuck up on them so slowly and naturally that they’ve formed an etiquette around the mental input without ever talking about it. The others ignore his nightmares just as they ignore Keith’s bouts of melancholy and Pidge’s moments of raw grief. 

He looks at Lance and Keith, both wearing guilty expressions, and he sighs again. “Let’s just take a break this afternoon, okay? We’ll come back together tonight and try to fix whatever— _this_ is.” 

Keith sends him a grateful look, while Lance just fidgets restlessly in his chair. It’s clear to Shiro that nothing will happen to fix the bond until Keith and Lance once again work out their issues, something that won't begin until they both cool off. The rest of them will just have to pray that the two most volatile Paladins get their shit together before their lives depend on being able to form Voltron. 

*~*Lance*~* 

Lance retreats to his room at some point after the fight. He knows that the others blame him, even if they aren’t necessarily angry at him for it. After all, they all know how Keith is, and Lance opened his big fat mouth without thinking about his words. 

He hadn’t meant it. Truly, he didn’t. It’s just—so shocking. Keith, a half-Galra? What are the odds that the only half-alien running around Earth just happened to be to one to discover the Blue Lion? Then again, maybe that’s why he and not someone else found her. Do Galra have weird psychic space powers like the Alteans? Lance suspects that Keith himself doesn’t know anything about his weirder half. Which really has to suck. What if Galra get deadly space diseases that humans don’t? Like flesh eating bacteria that only feast on purple fur? 

Well actually, Keith probably would be fine then. _But still._

Lance ruminates on the whole thing, trying to decide how he’s going to fix it. After all, it’s not like Keith is going to apologize or try to heal their rift. No, Lance is going to have to be the one to man up on that front. Which is fine; he’s a big enough person to swallow his outrage and pride. The way it felt when Keith ripped himself away from Lance, well, that isn't something Lance wants to experience again in a hurry. Or at all, really. 

He wonders if that’s how it felt for Keith when Lance did the same thing a couple months ago. Of course, when Lance did it, the shock didn’t level anyone flat, even if was a bit painful. But the Voltron meld has only gotten stronger since then, their ability to work together with the Lions and each other improving day after day. It’s no wonder that the negative effects of fucking it up would grow stronger as well. 

At some point, there’s a rap on Lance’s door. Though the person doesn’t announce themselves, Lance knows it’s Keith. Only the Red Paladin has this way of impatiently knocking on a door like he’s personally offended at it being closed. 

“Go away,” Lance calls out. There is a pause, and it looks like Keith will actually respect Lance’s demand, but then the door slides open anyway. Lance grumbles, “What’s the point of knocking if you’re just going to ignore me anyway?” 

“Shut up,” Keith replies as he slides the door closed behind him. 

Lance sits up and glares at the intruder. He tries one more time to get the other boy to leave peacefully. “Have you ever heard of just letting a man sulk in peace?” 

“No.” Keith walks over to where Lance is slouched on his bed. He stands over the other teen, uncomfortably close. It makes Lance’s hackles raise as he feels himself boxed in. “I’m really fucking pissed at you.” 

Lance wants to snarl back. He knows Keith is super pissed, thank you very much. The whole tearing the Voltron mind meld wide open incident informed him of that. The fact that they’re still all separated as much as possible, tightly pulled within themselves tells him how much Keith is still pissed. 

“I said I was sorry,” Lance says, hating the note of petulance that enters his voice. He winces and looks up into Keith’s nearly purple eyes. A prickle races across his spine. Keith’s eyes glint dangerously. For the second time, Lance notices just how close Keith has decided to hover over him. So close that Lance can smell him, sweat mixed with fresh shower. Keith must have just come from the training room. 

Keith narrows his eyes, never lowering his gaze. “One, you said, ‘that came out wrong,’ not ‘I’m sorry.’ Two, saying sorry isn't a get out of jail free card. You have to actually mean it.” 

That is perhaps a valid point, not that Lance ever plans on admitting it. Still, he senses that Keith is dancing around why he actually snapped the meld apart. It wasn’t because of Lance’s shitty apology. “Oh my God, Keith, just spit out whatever you’re actually pissed about. Coy isn't really your thing.” 

Keith obviously takes that as a challenge. “You didn't fuck a Galra,” he asserts, his face screwed up in an ugly scowl. His breath is hot in Lance’s face. 

“Um,” Lance falters. Are they about to go into the semantics of Keith being a half-Galra? That can’t honestly be what Keith is pissed about, right? That Lance didn’t label him correctly? 

Keith growls, a low sound in the back of his throat that could only be described as animalistic. “I mean you didn’t _just_ fuck a Galra. I’m not a notch on your weird kink bingo. I’m not a thing. I’m your—.” He struggles for a moment, then completes his thought, “I’m your teammate. You don’t get to dehumanize me like that.” He says it so fiercely, so defensively, like he actually expects Lance to argue with him. Lance can only stare. 

A ton of things go through Lance’s mind right then. Like how much he wishes he has the thread of the Voltron bond to supplement his reading of Keith’s face. He might have gotten better at parsing apart Keith’s tiny repertoire of facial expressions (really, there’s only like three) but it’s still hard for him to tell the different between hostile-angry and insecure-angry. He’s also thinking, not for the first time, that he absolutely doesn’t understand how Keith’s mind works. 

“But we fucked before I knew you were half-Galra,” he says blankly. And really, Keith had been the kinky one, not Lance. Lance wasn't the one who was putting things up his ass while he was all alone in his bedroom, after all. The thought of which has him picturing Keith masturbating, which is not a helpful mental place to be in. 

He remembers that whisper of violence in Keith’s thoughts, how Keith had shuddered when Lance had held his hands down. Yeah, Keith has no right to be calling anyone else kinky. 

“You know what I mean,” Keith insists. 

“Dude, actually, I don’t,” Lance maintains, knowing it’s just going to piss Keith off, but wanting to be honest. He cocks his head at the other boy. “You know, now that I’m really thinking about it, for my one and only alien tryst, you kinda suck,” he babbles, laying the nonchalance on thick as Keith stares at him with growing outrage. “Like you don’t even have tentacles. Or those Vibrata thingies. All you’ve got going for you, alien-wise, is that totally unnatural mullet. Like, where’s your second dick? That might have been cool. But no, you’re actually completely lame.” 

As Lance’s rambling falters, Keith takes one long, heaving breath. Then another. Watching him, Lance thinks he’s finally going to get slapped, or punched in the nose— _something_. But instead, Keith eventually says through gritted teeth, “Vibrissae.” 

“What?” 

“They’re called—Vibrissae.” Keith growls again, his frustration evident. “How are you so fucking stupid?” 

Lance finds that rich coming from the prince of emotional constipation. Though he doesn’t think Keith would appreciate being informed of that fact at the moment. “Then help me out,” Lance says instead, pointing a finger at his own temple to illustrate his point. 

His stomach clenches as he watches Keith’s eyes widen and pupils dilate in shock. The Red Paladin draws back a fraction of an inch from where he has been hovering over Lance. They both know exactly what Lance means. Keith might be the reckless one on the battlefield, but Lance has always been the rash one when it comes to social interaction. And this is rash, what he’s doing. It’s one thing to tolerate the group brain wave, to surreptitiously use it even, but another thing entirely to seek it out apart from forming Voltron. Lance has always been the least conservative when it comes to accepting the bond’s existence (see his board game shenanigans) but this request feels different, more—deliberate. This is something that once committed to, can't be undone. They both sense that. 

“I don’t want you in my head,” Keith says, his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. 

They both know that’s a lie. Lance leans back onto his palms, widening the gap between them further. 

Neither moves for a moment. Keith is still breathing those long, rattling breaths. After another moment, he adds, “You are the biggest asshole I have ever met in my life.” 

Ignoring the asshole comment, Lance asks, “You know I don’t have a kink bingo, right?” 

Keith cocks his head and replies, “Maybe, but you made me feel like shit today.” 

Lance swallows heavily at the accusation. It’s funny; Months ago he would have brushed such a comment off and instead, delighted in getting the upper hand. “I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it. 

Keith looks at Lance. The Red Paladin is still standing awkwardly next to Lance’s bed, knees practically knocking into the other boy’s. Finally, in an unsubtle offer of peace, Lance pats the space next to him. Keith hesitates, but in the end chooses to slouch down next to him. The Red Paladin leaves a good half a foot or so of room between them though, much to Lance’s bemusement what with the whole hovering in his face thing earlier. 

Turning his head to look at Keith, Lance realizes that the other boy has closed his eyes, apparently concentrating. The echo of the Voltron bond flickers in Lance’s awareness, and he’s startled to find that his chest balloons with excited adrenaline at the thought of Keith allowing Lance back into his mind. It makes him feel off kilter, to realize how much he relies on this strange connection, and to Keith of all people. 

Lance has never really needed anyone before, except for his family. 

They are both quiet as they concentrate on a place within themselves. Then like a wave breaking through a levee, Keith’s mind washes over Lance. It’s all fire and violence and passion. Lance feels like he’s being devoured. It’s a sensation that he has always associated with Keith, one he used to run from. This time he leans into it, demands more. 

What used to just be senseless data, now informs Lance of all sorts of details of Keith’s being. As always he sees it as music, but music he is finally learning to play. A tremor of mishit notes speaks to exhaustion and pain, thoughts made dull. Shiro had said that the Blade of Marmora gave Keith some kind of test, but now Lance wonders what sort of test could leave Keith of all people so beaten down. 

Tension. A note played far too high, held far too long. It’s instinct to fit himself around Keith, to be the easy strumming that the other boy can set a calmer rhythm to. For a moment they hold themselves in that place, reaching the rapport they’ve had for the past few weeks. But Keith doesn’t stop there. His mind stays wrapped up in Lance’s, pushing harder, crawling deeper. 

Lance is only jolted from his awareness of what’s happening in the meld because something jabs him in the ribcage. He hears Keith swear, then realizes that at some point he has been pushed over onto his back, and Keith has one leg slotted in-between Lance’s, arms pinning his wrists. 

They both pause as Lance blinks his eyes open to stare into Keith’s nearly purple ones. The violence threading between them coalesces, compresses into a single arching point that has Lance gasping. Keith shudders, whether at the sound Lance is making or the feelings pulsing between them, Lance has no idea. But then Keith grimaces, and he lets go of Lance’s wrists, much to the Blue Paladin’s disappointment. He sits up, though he doesn’t get off of Lance’s lap. 

“Dude, I thought you were going to ravish me! What gives?” Lance complains. Now that his dick is totally on board with the meld stuff, he doesn’t think it’s fair for Keith to just stop mid—whatever this is. 

Keith scowls again, because of course he’s incapable of just letting go and having something easy. This is going to become a _Thing_. Lance can feel it. 

“I’m not going to freaking ravish you, Lance. Jesus. You’re doing it again.” 

“Doing what?” 

“I don't want you to think I’m some fucking animal or something. Or that I’m inherently violent because I’m— _Galra._ ” 

Lance snorts. “Come on, dude,” he exclaims, “Are you saying kinkiness is a Galra trait? You’re all like that?” 

Keith glares at him. “Seriously?” 

But Lance is on a roll now, and despite Keith’s outrage, he starts giggling madly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he manages through heaving breaths. “It’s just, I’m imagining—,” he has to stop to cackle. 

Keith, meanwhile, looks like he’s rethinking his decision to have anything to do with Lance’s lap. 

“I’m imagining a Galra sex dungeon right now. Like, can you imagine Sendak in leather chaps and a riding crop?” Lance adds, puckering his lips. “I bet he’s so patriotic that he shouts Vrepit sa when he shoots his load.” 

Keith scowls again as he shifts uncomfortably. “The only thing I’m imagining right now is you with a gag.” 

That opportunity is too perfect to miss. “Whatever you want, baby.” Lance winks, and it’s totally worth it see Keith face go beet red. “Besides, I don’t think you want to have crazy, animalistic sex with me because you’re Galra. I think you want to have crazy, animalistic sex with me because you’re repressed as hell, and secretly you just want to let go.” 

“Don't psychoanalyze me,” Keith snaps. “I’m not broken.” 

Lance frowns. “Of course you’re not broken, Keith. _God_ —you’re fucking beautiful.” He doesn’t think about how over the top that sounds until it’s out of his mouth and it’s too late to take it back. 

For a second it looks like Keith is going to freak out again, but then the Red Paladin just tips his head back and laughs, a full body, shaking thing that Lance has never seen before even though they’ve been living in extremely close quarters for months now. “That was almost cheesier than the time you sang the Captain Planet song un-ironically,” Keith says once he catches his breath. 

Now it’s Lances turn to feel mildly offended. Literally no one in this stupid castle will ever let him forget that. “Oh, fuck off,” he replies, and he pushes at Keith, trying to shove the other boy off of his lap. 

But Keith pushes back. Suddenly, Lance’s wrists are caught again, and Keith’s face is millimeters above his, eyes boring into him. He lets out a slow, hot breath that tickles Lance’s eyelashes. The meld surges again, red heat and dust and wildness swirling around Lance, a storm in the desert. 

But storms have long since stopped frightening Lance. He leans up, closing the remaining space between them, and nips at Keith’s lower lip. 

Keith nips backs, and then he presses his nose again Lance’s ear, whispering harshly, “You do really want me to fuck you, don’t you? Hold you down and make you take it. Like a—like a whore.” He turns his face, meeting Lance’s eyes. There’s a question there, and for once, Lance doesn't struggle to interpret ‘Keith’ speak. The Red Paladin is asking if this is a game Lance wants to play, if he’s willing to meet Keith’s desires. 

_He is._

“You gonna make me beg for it, Keith?” Lance’s grin is toothy with cheekiness. “You’re gonna have to work a lot harder than that— _Oomph_.” 

Keith grinds hard into Lance’s dick just as he bites down on his ear. _It hurts._ Lance can almost feel the cartilage cracking. He squirms, trying to fight off the apparent freaking carnivore that is the Red Paladin, but Keith still has his hands in a vice grip, and he just ends up wriggling ineffectively. 

“Oh, hell no,” Lance gasps out. He uses his knees since his hands are otherwise occupied. Keith is stronger than him, But Lance is taller and a lot more flexible. The trick to getting out from under an opponent is in getting enough room to twist your hips, to get your legs free. So Lance does that, shrimping and crabbing his hips up, pushing far harder into the other boy’s groin than is strictly necessary. But this is warfare, and Lance has no intention of an easy surrender. 

He doesn’t manage to completely flip them, but he does get his legs out from under Keith’s hip, locking his ankles together behind Keith’s ass. Meanwhile Keith has jammed his elbows into the meat of Lance’s upper arms, trying to pin him while still having a free hand, which he promptly uses to pull at Lance’s short hair, nails digging in. 

He buries his nose in Lance’s neck, and he proceeds to suck a massive bruise there, alternately lapping and making breathy little moans before worrying his teeth in. The sensation sends electricity straight to Lance’s very interested dick. Something about the possessiveness of marking his neck like that both infuriates Lance and gets him hotter than the freaking Sahara. 

But Lance can't let Keith win that easily. With what brain power he had left that hasn’t traveled south, he decides Keith needs to be shown the true reason mullets are the worst idea ever. Or maybe the best. Keith’s elbows aren't enough to keep Lance’s hands pinned for long, and so while Keith is busy marking him, Lance manages to reach around and yank back on the Red Paladin’s hair. He snarls in Keith’s face, showing his own teeth, “I said you were gonna have to make me beg, Bat-boy,” and for a second he thinks he went too aggressive, but Keith positively beams, despite how Lance is practically pulling a chunk of his scalp out. 

They’re both rock hard by now. Keith’s legs tremble where he hovers over Lance, and Lance’s hips clench tighter in response. Keith grabs at Lance’s hand, twisting it, forcing him to let go of the Red Paladin’s hair or risking turning a joint in a direction it definitely wasn’t meant to go. And then they’re actually fighting, rolling around on the bed, kicking and scratching. 

Lance jabs his hand too hard into Keith’s eyeball, and the Red Paladin grunts in obvious pain. It echoes in the meld, rebounding against Lance. He doesn’t get the chance to apologize though, because just as quickly, Keith is raking nails down Lance’s back under his shirt. Every movement is punctuated by gasping breaths and snarls, jutting hips and the stuttering press of groins into each other’s legs. 

At one point, Lance actually does manage to catch Keith off guard by pulling up on his shirt, trapping him in the tangle of fabric. He uses that advantage ruthlessly to get on top and pull Keith’s dick free of its confines. Keith curses him colorfully and kicks out as Lance uses one long arm to hold Keith’s tangled arms up by his chest and the other to still Keith’s hips so he can nose at his cock. 

The Red Paladin’s cock is thick and full, bouncing against his stomach and Lance’s cheek as Lance tries to grab at the head with his lips and misses because of Keith’s jerking hips. He grunts and tries again, this time managing to form his mouth around the salty skin. Keith moans at the heat of Lance’s mouth, and his hips tremble like he isn't sure if this counts as losing or not, like he isn't sure if he wants to keep fighting. Keith groans louder, tipping his head back, and Lance thinks, _this is it._ He actually has beaten the mullet head at his own game. But then Keith jerks his head back down, his mouth hanging open in a pant, eyes suddenly completely aware and focused. 

Lance has enough time to think _, oh shit,_ and then Keith’s thighs are curling up, hands tearing free of their confining fabric. 

Lance tries to pull off of Keith’s dick, but he’s too slow. Instead, Keith locks his ankles behind Lance’s head and squeezes his thighs together, trapping Lance between his knees. Using his freed arms, he shoves Lance closer and thrusts up with his stomach curled. Lance is too busy panicking and trying to escape to keep his breathing shallow, and so he chokes on a mouthful of velvety cock. His mouth automatically opens to try to gasp for air. Shamelessly, Keith uses that opportunity to shove his cock even further down Lance’s throat. 

Keith squeezes his eyes shut again. He pants and curses and groans, hips jerking forward like he’s on autopilot, just seeking friction. Scrabbling ineffectively with his fingernails, Lance tries to shake his head loose, but Keith’s thighs are like iron bars. Instead, Lance is forced to feel Keith’s cock spear his lips and bump against the back of his throat. He can't control the spit that dribbles out the corner of his mouth or the way his tongue automatically brushes the underside of Keith’s cock, lavishing it. 

He should hate this, being used like an open hole. It shouldn’t make his own dick ache where he’s still trapped in his pants, shouldn’t send heat curling through his stomach. But it does. God, it does, even as tears well in his eyes and his throat spasms. 

Keith doesn’t want to hurt him. That’s as clear as day through the meld. But somewhere in his life, Keith has learned to both fear and rely on his own physicality. It’s there in the feeling of bruised and bloody knuckles, something Lance personally had never experienced before becoming a Paladin, but that swirls between them in a worn, familiar way. It’s in how Keith has yet to acknowledge the burning in his eye where Lance accidently jabbed him, even though it’s already starting to darken. Violence is a language that Keith instinctively speaks, and yet he hates himself for it. It’s a dichotomy that splits his soul straight down the middle. Makes his touch in the meld jagged and defensive. 

Keith doesn’t want to hurt Lance, but he wants to give in to that instinct to fight, to claw viciously at an opponent and rebel and conquer. 

Lance shouldn’t be able to understand Keith like that. He himself doesn’t have that same drive towards struggle for struggle’s sake. But he’s finally starting to understand what it means to be water, ever changing and adapting. Water is an element of healing, but it is a mistake to think water thus must be meek. Anyone who’s seen the ocean knows what a mistake that is. Water can be just as vicious and chaotic as it’s opposite and just as deadly. 

Lance is still on his knees, leaning over Keith. But even though Lance’s vision is blurry with tears and his lungs are screaming at him, he’s able to rock back and draw his own legs up. He kicks at Keith with all of his might, breaking the other’s hold on his head. Finally, Lance is able to release the cock in his mouth with a raspy gasp. 

Lance is a lot more dazed than Keith, overwhelmed by the meld, and he choose to believe that is the only reason that he doesn’t manage to press his advantage at that point. Keith is already climbing over him, trying to trap Lance underneath himself again. They’re both panting and gasping for air, sweat making everything slick and heated. Lance’s arm burns where Keith grabs at him with a punishing grip, and when he looks, he sees blood welling where Keith’s fingernails have dug in. 

Then Keith flips him on his stomach, using his weight to keep Lance down. He yanks on Lance’s pants, pulling them down over the swell of his ass. Having his legs pressed together offsets Lance’s precarious balance, and he collapses with an, “oomph,” fully onto his stomach. Keith lets his cock dig into the cleft of Lance’s ass as he drapes himself over the Blue Paladin. 

“Beg me for my cock,” Keith commands. He sounds intoxicated with his power trip. 

“Or what?” Lance’s voice is still hoarse from earlier. 

Keith scrapes his teeth down Lance’s back. “Or I’ll turn you over and go back to fucking your mouth.” He doesn’t stop there, voice getting rougher and rougher as he expounds on his fantasy. “I’m going to cum on your face. And then when you’re sitting there, face filthy and covered, I’m going to make you clean yourself up with your tongue. While I finger you open.” 

Lance whimpers, but Keith just keeps going. His mental presence is strange and fluttery, and Lance realizes that this is a plunge for Keith, to be so confidently speaking a fantasy like this. “I’ll take my time too. You’ll be begging me by then, but you’ll have lost your chance. And when I’m good and ready, when you’re open and dying for what your pride wouldn’t let you ask for, I’m going to fuck your thighs. Not your hole. You won't deserve it. And when I come again, when you can barely stand it, I’m going to finally let you put your fingers in your ass. But you won't be getting off. Nope, I’m going to watch as you gather up my cum and do your best to put it inside of yourself. You know why you’re going to do that for me?” 

“Jesus Christ, Keith.” 

Keith ignores him. “You’re going to gather up my cum like a whore for it because I’m not going to let you clean yourself up. You’re either going to spend the rest of the day with my cum in your ass or down your thighs. How does that sound?” 

Lance can't actually make a coherent sound. He had no idea that this filth was rooting around in Keith’s brain. Well, actually he totally had an idea, but this is—insanely hot. It shouldn’t be. Keith should be way too dorky with his fucking mullet to pull off dominating dirty talk. But Lance’s dick doesn’t seem to agree with that life fact. 

“So what will it be? Will you come on my cock like we both know you’re desperate to do, or are you going to keep being stubborn?” 

Lance officially has no shame. Because he says, “Fuck me, Keith.” He doesn’t even hesitate. 

Keith responds with a jerky thrust into Lance’s clamped thighs, before withdrawing slightly. It doesn’t even occur to Lance to keep fighting to get back into a position of power until Keith is already back with lube. 

“How did you know where to find my lube?” Lance demands, as Keith settles back behind him. Keith doesn’t deign to respond, and really, the lube was under Lance’s bed; not exactly a top-security hiding spot. Keith doesn't jump right into it though. Instead, he palms Lance’s ass, massaging the globes. “I didn’t take you for a fucking tease,” Lance complains as the ass inspection continues for a hint too long. 

“I’m not.” 

“Well then, are you ever going to take my damn pants off?” 

“No.” 

And with that, Keith is finally screwing the cap off of the lube bottle. Lance shivers at the sound. But even though Keith denied a teasing nature, his finger circles Lance’s hole, spreading lube and the tingle of fingertips pressed into sensitive skin. With an impatient sigh, Lance wiggles his ass at Keith as much as he’s able with his pants caught around his thighs. 

Keith laughs, his voice low and soft, despite his earlier aggression. Then he finally, finally presses a single digit inside of Lance. 

Lance hasn’t actually done as much ass play as his reputation might suggest. In the dark corners of the garrison, he had mostly stuck to blow and hands jobs when he was with other guys. The sensation of pressure in that intimate place is thus still strange to him. He fights the instinct to retreat, to yelp and draw away at the intrusion. 

It doesn’t help that Keith’s finger jabs him, nail scraping his walls. Flinching, Lance hisses. “Ow, fuck!” 

Rather than ignoring Lance’s shout of pain or keeping the game going, Keith shocks Lance with his response. He doesn’t climb off of Lance, but somehow his weight suddenly lessens. Even his touch in the meld withdraws from where it’s deeply entwined with Lance. 

“Shit, are you okay?” Keith demands breathlessly. “I didn’t mean—.” 

“Dude,” Lance interrupts. He doesn’t understand why Keith has so completely frozen. They were literally just rolling around, scratching and biting each other with impunity. But there it is, proof of how utterly ridiculous Keith is. “I know you didn’t mean to. Just watch the damn fingernails, alright?” 

Keith swallows. “Right.” But he’s off kilter now, what had been a steady pounding against Lance’s thoughts stuttering and hesitating. 

Lance swears. ‘I don’t want a gentle fuck from you, Keith. Show me what you’d really like to do to me, or get the fuck out of my room.” 

Keith remains still a moment longer, to the point where Lance thinks that this tryst truly might be over, but then Keith shudders. He mentally wraps around Lance again, holding nothing of the violent storm back. The way it mixes with Keith’s finger in Lance’s ass brightens their connection exquisitely. Lance loves that feeling, thinks he might be getting high off of it as pleasure sparks in his brain. 

Keith kisses Lance’s shoulder blade, then bites down hard just as he twists his finger. With a curse, Lance snarls at him. He tries to turn his head and torso to face Keith, but the Red Paladin presses his weight down harder. 

One finger becomes two, then three. Lance is a withering mess by that point, fighting for friction against his dick as Keith does his best to deny him that. 

When Keith finally enters him, it isn't slow or gentle. He shoves in with one thrust and then immediately begins rutting. He pants, “God, Lance, you’re fucking perfect for me.” The slide is amazing, the feeling of being full, of being used, exquisite. Lance had how no idea how much he would be into this, or if this is actually just him responding to Keith’s pleasure humming over the bond. 

Lance can tell that Keith isn't merely lost in the feeling of Lance’s ass clenching around his dick. It’s more than that. It’s like Keith spends his day enclosed in a space that’s too small for his skin, tension clawing and pressing, and he’s suddenly been set free. He doesn’t have to hold back, to pretend to be something he’s not, and he practically aches with relief. 

He pulls Lance up by the waist, changing and deepening the angle. Lance grunts as Keith finally hits that spot. His fingers fight for an anchor in the sheets and find none. 

Keith fucks steady and even, far steadier than Lance would have expected. Even as he can feel the orgasm building up in both of them, even as Keith’s legs tremble just slightly, his jutting hips never stutter. He just keeps slamming in and nearly completely retreating, head catching on Lance’s rim before shoving back balls deep. 

It’s its own form of torture, to have this building electricity tingling in his groin and to have Keith just keep moving like he has all fucking day. “Faster,” Lance hisses. 

Keith doesn’t seem to appreciate the command because his hand reaches around and encircles Lances throat with a grunt. He doesn’t squeeze or anything, but with just one hand to balance with, he leans more of his weight on Lance, the fingers around the Blue Paladin’s throat acting like its own anchor, pressing deeply with every retreating thrust. 

That’s what drives Lance over the edge, the pressure on his lungs and vocal cords in time with Keith’s still steady thrusts. He takes Keith with him as he goes, clutching the other man within the meld, forcing him to feel the ecstasy that starts somewhere at the base of Lance’s spine and radiates out in one never-ending pulse. There’s something wonderfully dirty about feeling the warmth of come splashing inside himself, hearing it squelch as Keith’s movement finally peters out with a drawn out sigh. 

They’re both still as they come down together, Keith draped over Lance. Surprisingly, he didn’t collapse down and smother Lance after he came, though Lance can feel him trembling just slightly. Deciding to save them both, Lance gently slides forward, feeling Keith’s softening dick slip out of himself. He rolls out of the way as Keith finally lets himself fall. 

Lance lays on his back. Keith curls up, pressing his face into Lance’s shoulder. The Red Paladin is completely silent, and Lance knows that whatever gave Keith the ability to use his words during sex has already started to fade back into the background. Keith is probably content to go back to their uneasy relationship, to never talk about this ever again. But Lance isn't like Keith, he can't just turn it all off just because endorphins are singing in his veins. 

“I’m not a whore,” he says suddenly, his eyes still on the ceiling. He feels Keith tense next to him, but the Red Paladin doesn’t respond right away. When they’d first met, Lance would have taken Keith’s silence for an answer, would have been completely offended. But he’s learned that Keith needs time to collect his thoughts, that he works best with space. 

Finally, Keith responds quietly, “I’m not inhuman.” 

Staying not-offended is turning out to be harder than Lance anticipated. He huffs, “Dude, how many times do I have to say—.” 

Keith interrupts him, “But I did kinda get off on the violence.” 

Lance feels Keith push up to face him, and with a sigh he does the same, rolling over and staring at Keith’s vibrant, near purple eyes. It still takes him a second to understand what Keith is trying to say. “Oh,” he finally replies. 

Keith kind of gets off on violence. He isn't a sadist or cruel or hateful. He doesn’t like to harm people. But in some ways he was the most prepared out of all of them to fight an impossible crusade against space Nazis. Keith was made for war. Maybe that’s his Galra DNA expressing itself. Maybe it’s his shitty upbringing. But in the end, it doesn’t really matter why. 

Keith is what he is, and whatever that is, he’s not inhuman. Just as Lance isn't a whore. 

Lance has fucked Keith, and he’s fucked Hunk, and he’s fucked about a fourth of the Garrison. He knows there are people who would have said that patently makes him a slut or whatever, but those people have no fucking clue. They couldn’t feel the smoothing of Hunk’s rhythm in the meld, how grateful the Yellow Paladin had been to have a safe and easy moment of intimacy, to know that Lance would wrap his insecurities with unconditional love. 

Keith quirks his lip, gaze softening, “You’re not a whore, but you’re kinda easy, Lance, not gonna to lie.” 

“I didn’t hear you complaining,” Lance snaps, but there’s no heat to it. 

Keith just snorts. 

After another moment, Lance admits quietly, “I kinda got off on it too, you know.” 

“I noticed.” 

“Ha, ha, you’re fucking hilarious.” 

*~*Shiro*~* 

Shiro is doing one armed pull ups in his room, trying to work away the tension of the day, when he feels it. There’s a blinding rightness to the Voltron bond that flashes through him. He actually loses his grip on the bar across his closet door and drops unceremoniously to the floor. 

All the muscles in his abs clench, a rolling tension that leaves an echoing heat in its wake. Electricity settles in the pit of his stomach, and he groans, long and low. 

_What the fuck is going on?_

Shiro is familiar with how a mind can trick itself, how thoughts and sensations can overlap so that you can't trust either. He tries to center himself, dig his way out of the swirling meld and focus on the here and now. His fingertips scrabble against the smooth surface of the floor. 

But he can't escape it, no matter how hard he focuses his will. For some reason he doesn’t understand, Keith and Lance have become a thundering hurricane, sweeping over the barriers that Shiro had put up between himself and the meld this afternoon as if they’re made of plywood. Their rush along the spidery connections of the bond feels like a fist knuckling a bruise where everything is still tender and fragile. 

The feeling isn't necessarily bad or hostile, though it is strangely violent. 

Another wave of electricity runs through him, pooling in his groin and making his balls ache. It’s more thoughtless instinct than an actual decision that has him sitting back and drawing his cock out. But once he does that, he pauses, blinking against the haziness of arousal. _What the fuck is he doing?_ How has he gotten from his usual pull-ups to sitting back on his thighs, his dick half hanging out of his pants? 

Shiro hasn’t felt like this in—an unthinkably long time. Masturbation has become something perfunctory, an almost annoying intrusion into his daily life. 

Even before the Kerberos mission, he’d hit that age where his libido had finally leveled out, losing the all-consuming nature of teenage years. Then, when he’d first been captured by the Galra, when he’d still been in the group cells, jacking off in front of strangers had been unthinkable to him. To touch himself in front of strangers would have been a symbol of his degradation, of losing the battle for his soul against the Galra. And by the time he’d been worn down, made something almost less than human, the drive to give himself pleasure had vanished. His body was a thing separate from him, and he’d only given it the minimum care it needed to continue functioning. 

It’s a learned instinct he is still fighting to let go of. 

He feels so— _connected._ That’s what’s so strange about this, besides how sudden and without a cause it is. That dull feeling of wrongness he’s been dealing with since the fight is gone, replaced by the warmth of the others, the sensation of being held and cradled, mixing with the heat of his groin. 

He can no more stop himself from touching his dick than he can stop breathing. Someone else in the meld is creating a rhythm, a push and pull, and it’s easy to match himself to it, to slide his palm up and down sensitive flesh. Crooking his fingers over the head every third stroke is like the drop of a drum beat. 

He barely notices his own high whine as he lets his left hand drift inside his pants and cradle his balls, massaging and tightening to the same rhythm. Usually when he jerks off, he goes as fast as possible as part of his desire to just get it over with. But for some reason he can't seem to make himself pick up the pace. He can't bear to break this strange rhythm he’s got going, so he just keeps slowly and steadily jerking himself off. 

He doesn’t need lube because pre-cum is leaking from his cock like a faucet. Every time he touches the ridge of his head, electricity crackles up his spine and his breath stutters. It builds and fucking builds until he’s gasping for breath, until he can't fucking take it anymore. He’s never wanted to cum so badly in his fucking life. _Please, God, please._

His back bends like a bow string and then snaps. He comes so hard that his vision whites out, dick pulsing and pulsing. There’s an instant, a single instant, where he feels like he’s left his body. His sense of self subsumed by a perfect togetherness. 

There’s something important to understand about that, something he needs to grasp. But then it’s slipped away, and he’s back within his own body, feeling the meld swirl, but no longer lost in it. 

Afterwards, he just sits there in the silence of his room, alone but for his own breathing. Then he begins to realize how out of control he’d been over the past few minutes, and the high of his orgasm sours, replaced by dread. 

What the hell just happened? If he had been needed in any way, he wouldn’t have been able to respond. It might have been pleasurable in the moment, but he’d been basically out of commission, too busy with his hand on his dick to be aware of anything else. Is it some new form of attack? His mind has to go there. The Galra are treacherous and clever. They could easily come up with something that blends danger and joy, catching the Paladins off guard, and as humans they are woefully unprepared to face psychic or magic based assaults. 

Shiro clatters to his feet, ignoring the mess on the floor and drawing his dick back into his pants. He has to find the others, make sure they are okay. 

Hunk is just exiting his own room as Shiro races into the hallway. Shiro’s gaze rakes up and down, searching for any sign of harm. Hunk’s face is flushed, ears read, but he’s not bleeding. He sees Shiro and the clear panic on the Black Paladin’s face, and says without preamble, “Dude, that was not cool. It’s bad enough I have to watch them eye-fucking across the dinner table, but voyeuristic orgasms are not as great as they sound.” 

So Hunk doesn't think it was an attack. No, the Yellow Paladin believes it came from Lance and Keith. Which now that he really thinks about it, Shiro realizes how ridiculous his own inclination really was. Of course it’s Lance and Keith. That’s what it always comes down to when it involves the Voltron meld. But if this orgasmic bliss is something that they’ve all simultaneously felt, that means . . .. 

_“Pidge,”_ Shiro says with rising horror. 

Hunk frowns. “What about her? It’s not like she enjoyed that more than us—oh God.” 

“She’s _fifteen_ ,” Shiro says as Hunk seems to catch on. “Just discovering her sexuality. This can't—this can't. Jesus.” They share an equal look of horror between themselves. 

Before Shiro can figure out what to do or say next, the Green Paladin herself saunters down the hall. She perks up when she sees Shiro and Hunk, having clearly been searching for them. “Did you guys feel that?” she asks as she walks up. She doesn’t sound upset or frightened, which makes Shiro think she must be repressing the hell out what just happened, and that’s somehow worse, that it traumatized her so much that she can't even properly convey it. 

Shiro swallows down bile. This is his responsibility, not Hunk’s, so he makes a gesture to the other boy to stay quiet. “Pidge, I am so sorry you had to deal with that,” he begins. “If you need to talk to someone, I’m here for you, or if you’re more comfortable, I can go get Allura. Just know that none of us intended this, and I understand if you’re uncomfortable—.” 

“Shiro, what are you talking about?” Pidge demands, cutting him off. 

“I—?” Shiro stops. He blinks at her. “What are _you_ talking about?” 

She narrows her eyes in suspicion, then says very slowly as if she were explaining something to a small child, “I’m talking about the bond snapping back together and then that weird wave of lovey-dovey-ness. It was pretty nice actually, after all of that fighting, and I’m not sure why I would need to talk to Allura about it. What were you talking about?” 

“Lovey-dovey-ness?” Shiro repeats faintly. 

“Um, yeah.” Pidge says. She looks between him and Hunk, then seems to decide that she is done with the conversation. “Right, well you guys go back to—whatever. I’m gonna go keep playing Killbot-Phantasm XII.” She gives them one more incredulous look, like she could count their brain cells on one finger and she is supremely unimpressed by that fact. 

“Good talk,” Hunk says as Pidge turns her back on them with a snort. Shiro shoves his elbow in Hunk’s rib. “What?” Hunk cries out, rubbing his side furtively. 

Shiro glares at Hunk once the Green Paladin is out of earshot. “She will never find out about this, ever,” he threatens, “Ever.” Then for good measure, “Ever.” 

Hunk, of course, is the practical one. “Um, I don’t know how much we can hide it. I mean, they’ll probably fuck again. Oh God,” he adds, voice going panicky again, “what if the meld gets so strong that we can feel each other masturbating? Like can you even imagine?” 

After today, Shiro can imagine all too well. “I don’t think that’s how it works. I don’t normally get physical sensations from you guys. I think it had more to do with what they were doing on the meld side of things.” 

“Brain sex,” Hunk offers helpfully. 

Shiro glares at him. “Someone has to tell them what happened. Stop them before they do it again.” 

At that, Shiro and Hunk exchange a wary glance. Hunk says, “I think that’s a job for our fearless leader.” 

“Coward,” Shiro mutters. 

Hunk just replies cheerfully, “Yep.” 

Seeing he’s not getting any help here, Shiro squeezes his eyes shut. He just has to remember what’s at stake here. “For Pidge,” he says. 

“For Pidge,” Hunk agrees, his expression relaxing. He clearly believes he’s escaped that particular duty. Shiro doesn’t bother to correct him. 

*** 

*Thirty Minutes Later* 

*** 

“I don’t see why I have to be here,” Hunk whines. 

Shiro just glares him into submission. Earlier, he’d taken about five full seconds to decide whether to knock on Lance’s door or not, and had summarily realized that he just doesn’t have the willpower to risk seeing Lance and Keith naked together. So instead he calls them to his own room using the intercom. Sue him. 

“Moral support,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“Schadenfreude is not moral support,” Hunk replies with another pout. 

Before Shiro can respond, the door slides open, and Keith and Lance walk in together. They look— _wrecked._ Lance sports a massive bruise on his neck and a livid, still drying scratch down the side of his cheek by his right ear. Keith looks, if anything, even worse. Blood blossoms in the white of one of his eyes, and it’s clear that the reddish purple deepening around the same eye will be a shiner by tomorrow. 

Despite his conviction, the ridiculous sight of it stops Shiro short, and all he can do is stare. Hunk eventually is the first to greet them as Lance and Keith both lower their eyes sheepishly, obviously aware of how they must look. “Oh my God, did you guys try to kill each other before you fucked? Jesus.” 

“Kind of?” Lance answers, just as Keith demands, “What is this about?” 

Hunk sends Shiro a helpless look at that, so he squares himself and faces his Paladins. “Lance. Keith. I can totally understand why you would turn to each other for your, ah, relationship needs. But you need to know that it’s been causing some complications. Complications we need to discuss.” 

Keith’s expression closes off faster than the speed of light, while Lance just frowns. “Dude, if this is about teammate cohesion or whatever, we get that okay? We’re not stupid, and honestly, I think we’ve been better together with this— _thing_ , not without it.” 

“Lance,” Shiro interrupts. “It’s not that. It’s—we can feel it, okay? When you two did that. We could all feel it.” 

Lance stares in dumbfounded silence for one long moment. “What!?” 

“It was pretty freaky,” Hunk confirms. 

Shiro turns his gaze to Keith. There’s something brittle about Keith’s expression, something unreadable. Keith’s eyes lift to Shiro’s. “You felt that?” he repeats quietly. 

Shiro refuses to look away. “Yes.” 

“Through the Voltron bond?” 

“Yes.” 

“Oh my god, I can't decide if this is horrifying or hilarious,” exclaims Lance, “Hunk, which is it?” 

“Horrifying,” replies Hunk without missing a beat. 

“Look,” Shiro begins, feeling his headache returning. He and Keith are still staring at each other. 

“Wait, where’s Pidge?” Lance interrupts. 

Shiro makes himself look away from Keith’s betrayed gaze. “She didn’t realize exactly what happened. And I decided it’s better if it stays that way.” 

“Oh.” 

Though there is an underlying tension and discomfort to the conversation, overall it’s going better than Shiro could have ever hoped. No one is freaking out or throwing accusing fingers. Maybe they really can get through this without further trauma. Shiro squares himself. “So you see, you two can’t do that again.” 

Unsurprisingly, Lance is the one who struggles with that command. “But that’s not fair,” he exclaims. “We don't know how this even works. What about sex with other people? Or masturbation? I don’t think I can give up masturbating for you guys. Like, that’s my only consistent form of stress relief—.” 

“Lance,” Shiro cuts him off. “I think it’s a meld thing. Because it was you _and_ Keith. I don’t think masturbating is going to affect it, and if it does—well then, we’ll deal with that when it happens, okay?” _God, please let that never be a thing._ Shiro cannot handle even the idea of having this same conversation again about masturbating, of having to set ground rules about all of their private times. Especially with three teenage boys. 

Hunk makes an abortive little gesture, then seems to think better of it. Shiro narrows his eyes at the Yellow Paladin. “What?” 

Hunk shrugs. “It’s nothing.” 

“What?” 

“Seriously, it doesn’t matter.” 

“Then tell me.” 

With a sigh and a quick glance at Lance, Hunk gives in. “It’s just—it’s been helping, right?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Every time that someone’s, uh, intimate, with the meld, it gets stronger and smoother, right? And you and Allura are always talking about how we have to get better as Paladins, sooooo…” 

Keith makes a face and Lance looks thoughtfully at his friend. “Dude, are you saying that we should all start fucking each other?” 

“No,” Hunk quickly shakes his head. “That’s why I said it didn’t matter.” 

“Good, because I am not giving you another blowjob.” 

Keith jerks his head around. “Another?” 

Hunk rolls his eyes, ignoring Keith. “Noted,” he says dryly. 

Keith repeats himself. “Another?” 

With that, Lance finally faces Keith. “Seriously, don’t start that shit.” 

“I’m not starting anything. It’s just—.” 

Lance interrupts him, expression hard in a way that Shiro hasn’t often seen. “Is being obnoxiously jealous, like a Galra thing?” he demands pointedly. “You’re all like that?” 

Shiro can't believe those words just came out of Lance’s mouth. After everything they talked about, after just causing a fight with his insensitivity, Lance still can't seem to stop his verbal vomit. But Keith surprises him. 

Rather than exploding, Keith pauses, staring at Lance. He blinks, then says slowly, “No. If anything, we seem to have an unexplained fondness for total sluts.” 

For some reason, Lance barks out a laugh at that. 

Shoulders falling like a cut string, Shiro slumps with relief, while Hunk just rolls his eyes again. Keith and Lance are both grinning idiotically at each other, and Shiro thinks that he will never understand the relationship between those two. 

As if he read Shiro’s mind, Keith turns suddenly, eyes meeting Shiro’s again. The meld, faint as it is so far away from the Lions, stirs with strange, dark whispers. There’s something Shiro doesn’t understand, something he should, but then Keith turns back around, and the moment is gone. 

Despite his earlier positivity, uneasiness floods him. Humans weren’t built to share this type of intimacy, he remembers Allura saying. Whatever’s been going on with Lance and Keith is going to have more consequences down the road. Because there’s one question that Hunk brought up, at least indirectly. And now that he’s thought of it, Shiro will never be able to un-think it. 

Just how far will Team Voltron be willing to go to strengthen the meld? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And then they all discovered polyamory. The Sequel...Eventually.


End file.
